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AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


OF 


MADAME GUYON 

II 


complete in two parts 



CHICAGO 

Christian Witness Co. 



Copyright, 1917 
by 

The Christian Witness Co. 


DEC 31 1917 

©CI.A481194 



INTRODUCTION. 


In the history of the world few persons have 
attained to that high degree of spirituality reached by 
Madame Guyon. 

Bom in a corrupt age, and in a nation marked for 
its degeneracy; nursed and reared in a Church, as 
profligate as the world in which it was embedded; 
persecuted at every step of her career; and groping as 
she did in the midst of spiritual desolation and ignor¬ 
ance, nevertheless, she arose to the highest pinnacle of 
pre-eminence in spirituality and Christian devotion. 

She lived and died in the bosom of the Catholic 
Church; yet was tormented and afflicted; was mal¬ 
treated and abused; and was imprisoned for years by 
the highest authorities of that Church. 

Her sole crime was that of loving God; the ground 
of her offence was found in her supreme devotion, and 
unmeasured attachment to Christ. When they 
demanded her money and estate, she gladly surren¬ 
dered them, even to her impoverishment, but it availed 
nothing. The crime of loving him in whom her whole 
being was absorbed, never could be mitigated, or for¬ 
given. 


IV 


INTRODUCTION. 


She loved only to do good to the bodies and souls 
of her fellow-creatures, and to such an extent was she 
filled with the Holy Ghost, and with the power of God, 
that she wrought wonders in her day, and has not 
ceased to influence in a marked degree the ages that 
have followed. 

Viewed from a human standpoint, it is a sublime 
spectacle, to see a solitary woman subvert all the mach¬ 
inations of kings and courtiers; laugh to scorn all the 
malignant enginery of the Papal inquisition, and silence, 
and confound the pretentions of the most learned 
divines. She not only saw more clearly the sublimest 
truths of our most holy Christianity, but she basked in 
the clearest and most beautiful sunlight while they 
groped in darkness. She grasped with ease the deepest 
and sublimest truths of holy Writ, while they were lost 
in the mazes of their own profound ignorance. 

One distinguished divine was delighted to sit at her 
feet. At first he heard her with distrust; then with 
admiration. Finally he opened his heart to the truth, 
and stretched forth his hand to be led by this eminent 
saint of God into the holy of holies where she dwelt. 
We allude to the distinguished Archbishop Fenelon, 
whose sweet spirit and charming writings have been a 
blessing to every generation following him; and who 
was, perhaps, never esteemed more than he is at this 
day. 

We offer no word of apology for publishing in the 


INTRODUCTION. 


V 


Autobiography of Madame Guyon, those expressions 
of devotion to her Church, that found vent in her writ¬ 
ings. She was a true Catholic when Protestantism was 
in its infancy. 

There can be no doubt that God, by a special inter¬ 
position of his Providence, caused her to commit her 
life so minutely to writing. The duty was enjoined 
upon her by her spiritual director, whom the rules of 
her Church made it obligatory upon her to obey. It 
was written while she was incarcerated in the cell of a 
lonely prison. The same all-wise Providence preserved 
it from destruction, and we have not a shadow of doubt 
that it is destined to accomplish ten-fold more in the 
next century than it has ever accomplished in the past. 
Indeed, the Christian world is only just beginning to 
understand and appreciate it, and the hope and prayer 
of the publisher is, that thousands may, through its 
instrumentality, be brought into the same intimate 
communion and fellowship with God, that was so 
richly enjoyed by Madame Guyon. E. J. 


Preface to 1917 Edition 


This account was written in the simplicity 
of nearly three centuries ago. In the minutest 
detail, the author gives her biography, show¬ 
ing how each temptation, each persecution 
and each struggle with her persecutors only 
drew her nearer to the object of her love. 

Being forbidden to pray only augmented 
her love to God. She had estates and emolu¬ 
ments, but they did not satisfy her longing 
soul. Neither will they satisfy your soul, dear 
reader. Nothing but the blood of Christ can 
satisfy. Centuries have past, the world has 
changed, enlightened governments have freed 
human souls from the bondage of tyrants and 
priests who suborned the Spiritual Church to 
their own greedy lusts. Woman is no longer 
held in bondage to despotic family sur¬ 
roundings. 

But the same powers of darkness, even more 
subtle, hold sway over the soul today to draw 
it from its Creator. And the same implicit 
trust is able to keep the soul in perfect peace. 
If the God of our fathers could keep a be¬ 
nighted soul, surrounded by a corrupt church, 
a corrupt priesthood and corrupt practices, 
surely He is abundantly able to keep us. 

“Faith of our Fathers, holy faith, we will 
be true to Thee, till death.” 


Chicago, 1917. 


E. L. K. 



MADAME GUYON 


PART ONE. 

CHAPTER L 

As you thought there were omissions of importance 
in the former narration of my life, I willingly comply 
with your desire, in giving you a more circumstantial 
relation; though the labor seems rather painful, as I 
cannot use much study or reflection. My earnest wish 
is to paint in true colors to your view, the goodness of 
God to me, and the depth of my own ingratitude—but 
it is impossible, as numberless little circumstances have 
escaped my memory, and you are also unwilling I 
should give you a minute account of my sins. I shall, 
however, try to leave out as few faults as possible, and 
I depend on you to destroy it, when your soul hath 
drawn those spiritual advantages therefrom, which God 
intended, and for which purpose I am willing to sacri¬ 
fice all things, being fully persuaded of his designs 
toward you, as well for the sanctification of others, as 
for your own sanctification. 

But let me assure you, this is not attained, save 
through pain, weariness and labor; and it will be 
reached by a path that will wonderfully disappoint your 
expectations. Nevertheless, if you are fully convinced 
that it is on the nothing in man that God establishes 



2 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


his greatest works,—you will be in part guarded against 
disappointment or surprise. He destroys that he might 
build; for when he is about to rear his sacred temple 
in us, he first totally razes that vain and pompous edi¬ 
fice, which human art and power had erected, and from 
its horrible ruins a new structure is formed, by his 
power only. 

Oh, that you could comprehend the depth of this 
mystery, and learn the secrets of the conduct of God, 
revealed to babes, but hid from the wise and great of 
this world, who think themselves the Lord’s coun¬ 
sellor’s, and capable of investigating his procedures, 
and suppose they have attained that divine wisdom 
hidden from the eyes of all who live in self, and are 
enveloped in their own works, and who by a lively 
genius and elevated faculties mount up to heaven, 
and think to comprehend the height and depth and 
length and breadth of God. 

This divine wisdom is unknown, even to those who 
pass in the world for persons of extraordinary illumin¬ 
ation and knowledge. To whom then is she known, 
and who can tell us any tidings concerning her? De¬ 
struction and death assure us, that they have heard 
with their ears of her fame and renown. It is, then, in 
dying to all things, and in being truly lost to them, 
passing forward into God, and existing only in him, that 
we attain to some knowledge of the true wisdom. Oh, 
how little are her ways known, and her dealings with 
her most chosen servants! Scarce do we discover any¬ 
thing thereof, but surprised at the dissimilitude betwixt 
the truth we thus discover and our former ideas of it, 
we cry out with St. Paul, “Oh, the depth of the knowl¬ 
edge and wisdom of God! how unsearchable are his 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


3 


judgments, and his ways past finding out.” The Lord 
judgeth not of things as men do, who call good evil and 
evil good, and account that as righteousness which is 
abominable in his sight, and which according to the 
prophet, he regards as filthy rags. He will enter into 
strict judgment with these self-righteous, and they 
shall, like the Pharisees, be rather subjects ot Jus 
wrath, than objects ot his love, or inheritors of his 
rewards. Doth not Christ himself assure us, that “ ex¬ 
cept our righteousness exceed that of the Scribes and 
Pharisees we shall in no case enter into the kingdom of 
heaven.” And which of us even approaches them in 
righteousness; or, if we five in the practice of virtues, 
though much inferior to theirs, are we not ten-fold 
more ostentatious? Who is not pleased to behold him¬ 
self righteous in his own eyes, and in the eyes of 
others? or, who is it doubts that such righteousness is 
sufficient to please God? Yet, we see the indignation 
of our Lord manifested against such. He who was the 
perfect pattern of tenderness and meekness, such as 
flowed from the depth of the heart, and not that 
affected meekness, which under the form of a dove, 
hides the hawk’s heart. He appears severe only to 
these self-righteous people, and he publicly dishonored 
them. In what strange colors does he represent them, 
while he beholds the poor sinner with mercy, compas¬ 
sion and love, and declares that for them only he was 
come, that it was the sick who needed the physician; 
and that he came only to save the lost sheep of the 
house of Israel. 

O thou Source of Love! thou dost indeed seem 
so jealous of the salvation thou hast purchased, that 
thou dost prefer the sinner to the righteous! The poor 


4 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


sinner beholds him self vile and wretched, is in a man¬ 
ner constrained to detest himself; and finding his state 
so horrible, casts himself in his desperation into the 
arms of his Savior, and plunges into the healing foun¬ 
tain, and comes forth “white as wool.” Then con¬ 
founded at the review of his disordered state, and 
overflowing with love for him, who having alone the 
power, had also the compassion to save him—the excess 
of his love is proportioned to the enormity of his crimes, 
and the fullness of his gratitude, to the extent of the 
debt remitted. "Whilst the self-righteous, relying on 
the many good works he imagines he has performed, 
seems to hold salvation in his own hand, and considers 
heaven as a just reward of his merits. In the bitterness 
of his zeal he exclaims against all sinners, and repre¬ 
sents the gates of mercy as barred against them, and 
heaven as a place to which they have no claim. "What 
need have such self-righteous persons of a Savior? they 
are already burdened with the load of their own merits. 
Oh, how long they bear the flattering load, whilst sin¬ 
ners divested of everything, fly rapidly on the wings of 
faith and love into their Savior’s arms, who freely 
bestows on them that which he has so freely promised. 

How full of self-love are the self-righteous, and how 
void of the love of God? They esteem and admire 
themselves in their works of righteousness, which they 
suppose to be a fountain of happiness. These works 
are no sooner exposed to the Sun of Righteousness, 
than they discover all to be so full of impurity and 
baseness, that it frets them to the heart; meanwhile the 
poor sinner, Magdalene, is pardoned, because she loves 
much, and her faith and love are accepted as righteous¬ 
ness. The inspired Paul, who so well understood these 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


5 


great truths, and so fully investigated them, asssures us 
that “the faith of Abraham was imputed to him for 
righteousness.” This is truly beautiful, for it is certain 
that all of that holy patriarch’s actions were strictly 
righteous; yet, not seeing them as such, and being 
devoid of the love of them, and divested of selfishness, 
his faith was founded on the coming Christ. He hoped 
in him even against hope itself, and this was imputed 
to hi m for righteousness, (Rom. iv. 18 and 22,) a pure, 
simple and genuine righteousness, wrought by Christ, 
and not a righteousness wrought by himself, and 
regarded as of himself. 

You may imagine this a digression wide of the 
subject I at first proposed; but it leads insensibly to it, 
and shows that God accomplishes his work either in 
converted sinners, whose past iniquities serve as a 
counterpoise to their elevation; or in persons whose self- 
righteousness he destroys, by totally overthrowing the 
proud building they had reared on a sandy foundation, 
instead of the Rock —Christ. 

The establishment of all these ends, which he pro¬ 
posed in coming into the world, is effected by the 
apparent overthrow of that very structure which in 
reality he would erect; for, by means which seem 
to destroy his Church, he establishes it. How 
strangely does he found the new dispensation and give 
it his sanction! The very legislator himself is con¬ 
demned by the learned and great, as a malefactor, and 
dies an ignominious death. Oh, that we fully under¬ 
stood how very opposite our self-righteousness is to 
the designs of God—it would be a subject for endless 
humiliation, and we should have an utter distrust in 


6 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GTJYON. 


that which at present constitutes the whole of our 
dependence. 

This being premised, it will be less difficult for you 
to conceive the designs of God, in the favors he has 
conferred on one of the most insignificant of his crea¬ 
tures. From a just love of his supreme power, and a 
righteous jealousy of mankind, who attribute to each 
other the gifts he himself bestows upon them, it pleased 
him to take one of the most unworthy of the creation, 
to make known the fact that his graces are the effects 
of his will, not the fruits of our merits; that it is the 
property of his wisdom, to destroy what is proudly 
built, and to build what is destroyed; to make use of 
weak things to confound the mighty, and to employ 
in his service such as appear vile and contemptible. 

This he does in a manner so astonishing, as to ren¬ 
der them the objects of the scorn and contempt of the 
world. It is not to draw the public approbation upon 
them, that he makes them instrumental in the salvation 
of others; but to render them the objects of their dis¬ 
like and the subjects of their insults; as you will see in 
the narrative of the life you have enjoined upon me to 
write. 





THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


7 


CHAPTER H 

I was bom on the 18th of April, 1648. My parents, 
particularly my father, was extremely pious; but to 
him it was in a manner hereditary, as many of his 
forefathers were saints. 

My mother, in the eighth month, was accidentally 
frightened, which caused an abortion; and it is gener¬ 
ally imagined that a child bom in that month cannot 
survive; indeed, I was so excessively ill, immediately 
after my birth, that all about me despaired of my life, 
and were apprehensive I should die without baptism; 
but perceiving some signs of vitality, they ran to 
acquaint my father, who immediately brought a priest; 
but, on entering the chamber they were told, those 
symptoms which had raised their hopes were only 
expiring straggles, and that all was now over. 

I had no sooner shown signs of life again, than I 
again relapsed, and remained so long in an uncertain 
state, that it was some time before they could find a 
proper opportunity to baptize me, and I continued 
very unhealthy until I was two and a half years old, 
when they sent me to the convent of the Ursulines, 
where I remained a few months. 

On my return, my mother neglected to pay due 
attention to my education. She was not fond of 
daughters, and therefore abandoned me wholly to the 
care of servants; and indeed I should have suffered 
severely from their inattention to me, had not an all- 


8 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


watchful Providence been my protector: for through 
the hveliness of my disposition, I met with various 
accidents. I frequently fell into a deep vault that held 
our fire-wood; however, I always escaped unhurt. 

The Dutchess of Montbason came to the convent of 
the Benedictines, when I was about four years old. 
She had a great friendship for my father, and obtained 
his permission that I should go tq the same convent; 
for she took peculiar delight in my infant sportiveness, 
and a certain sweetness in my external deportment, 
with which God had endowed me. I accordingly 
became her constant companion. 

I was guilty of frequent and dangerous irregular¬ 
ities in this house, and remember to have committed 
serious faults. Yet I had good examples before me, and 
being naturally well inclined, I quickly followed them, 
when there were none to turn me aside. I loved to 
hear God spoken of, to be at Church, and to be dressed 
in a religious habit. One day I was told of the terrors 
of hell, which I imagined was intended to intimidate 
me, as I was exceedingly lively, and full of a little 
petulant vivacity, which they called wit. The succeed¬ 
ing night I dreamt of hell, and though I was so young, 
yet time has never since been able to efface the fright¬ 
ful ideas which were then impressed upon my imagin¬ 
ation. All appeared horrible darkness, where souls 
were punished, and my place amongst them was 
pointed out. At this I wept bitterly, and cried, “ Oh, 
my God, if thou wilt have mercy upon me, and spare 
me yet a little longer, I will never more offend thee.” 
And thou didst, O Lord, in mercy hearken unto my 
cry, and pour upon me strength and courage to serve 
thee, in an uncommon manner for one of my age. I 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


9 


wanted to go privately to confession, but being so 
little, tbe mistress of the boarders carried me to the 
priest, and staid with me while I was heard singly; but 
she was much astonished when I came to mention that 
I had suggestions against the faith, and the confessor 
began to laugh, and enquire what they were. I told 
him that till then I had doubted there was such a 
place as hell, and supposed my mistress had spoken of 
it merely to make me good, but that now my doubts 
were all removed. After confession my heart glowed 
with a kind of fervor, and at one time I felt a desire to 
suffer martyrdom. The good girls of the house, to 
amuse themselves, and to see how far this growing 
fervor would carry me, desired me to prepare for mar¬ 
tyrdom. I found great fervency and delight in prayer 
on this occasion, and was persuaded that this ardor, 
which was as new as it was pleasing, was a proof o i 
God’s love; and this inspired me with such courage 
and resolution, that I earnestly besought them to pro¬ 
ceed, that I might thereby enter into his sacred pres¬ 
ence. But was there not latent hypocrisy here ? Did 
I not imagine that it was possible they would not kill 
me, and that I should have the merit of martyrdom 
without suffering it? Indeed, it appeared there was 
something of this nature in it; for being placed kneel¬ 
ing on a cloth spread for the purpose, and seeing 
behind me a large sword lifted up, which they had 
prepared to try how far my ardor would carry me, I 
cried, “Hold! it is not right I should die without first 
obtaining my father’s permission.” I was quickly 
upbraided with having said this that I might escape, 
and that I was no longer a martyr. I continued long 
disconsolate, and would receive no comfort; something 


10 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


inwardly reproved me, for not having embraced that 
opportunity of going to heaven, when it rested alto¬ 
gether on my own choice. 

At my solicitation, and on account of my falling so 
frequently sicli, I was at length taken home; but not 
without having met a variety of little crosses, propor¬ 
tioned to my age. On my return, my mother having a 
maid in whom she placed confidence, left me again to 
the care of servants. I must here mention it as a great 
fault, of which mothers are guilty, when under pretext 
of external devotions, or other engagements, they suffer 
their daughters to be absent from them; nor can I for¬ 
bear condemning that unjust partiality with which 
parents treat some of their children. It is frequently 
productive of divisions in families, and even the ruin of 
some; whereas impartiality, by uniting children’s 
hearts together, lays the foundation of lasting har¬ 
mony and unanimity. 

I would I were able to convince parents, and all 
who have the care of youth, of the great attention they 
require, and how dangerous it is to let them be for any 
length of time from under their own eye, or to suffer 
them to be without some kind of employment. This 
negligence is the ruin of multitudes of females. How 
many little angels would we see, did not idleness and 
want of due restraint destroy every seed of virtue ? 

How greatly it is to be lamented, that mothers who 
are inclined to piety, should pervert even the means of 
salvation to their destruction, and commit the greatest 
irregularities while apparently pursuing that which 
should produce the most regular and circumspect 
conduct. 

Thus, because they experience certain sweetnesses 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GXJYON. 


11 


in prayer, they would be all day long at Church; 
meanwhile their children are running to destruction at 
home. We glorify God most when we prevent what 
may offend him. What must be the nature of that 
sacrifice which is the occasion of sin. God should be 
served in his own way, not in ours. Let the devotion 
of mothers be so regulated as to prevent their daugh¬ 
ters from straying. They should treat them as sisters, 
not as slaves; and appear pleased with their little 
amusements. Thus the children will delight in the 
presence of their mothers, instead of avoiding it; for if 
they find so much happiness with them, they will not 
dream of seeking it elsewhere. But mothers frequently 
deny their children any liberties; therefore, like birds 
constantly confined to a cage, they no sooner find 
means of escape than off they go, and never more 
return; whereas, in order to render them tame and 
docile when young, they should be permitted some¬ 
times to take wing; but as their flight is weak, and 
closely watched, it is easy to retake them when they 
escape; and this little flight gives them the habit of 
naturally returning to their cage, which becomes an 
agreeable confinement. I believe young girls should 
be treated in a manner something similar to this; 
mothers should indulge them in an innocent liberty, 
but should never lose sight of them. 

To guard the tender minds of children from what 
is wrong, much care should be taken to employ them 
in agreeable and useful matters. They should not be 
loaded with food they cannot relish; milk suited to 
babes should be administered to them, and not strong 
meat, which may so disgust them, that when they 
arrive at an age wherein it would be proper nourish- 


12 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


ment, they will not so much as taste it. Every day 
they should be obliged to read a little in some good 
book, and spend some time in prayer, which must be 
suited rather to stir the affections, than for meditation. 
Oh, were this method of education pursued, how 
speedily would many irregularities cease 1 These 
daughters becoming mothers, would educate their 
children as they themselves had been educated. 

Parents should also avoid showing the smallest 
partiality in the treatment of their children; it begets a 
secret jealousy and hatred amongst them, which fre¬ 
quently augments with time, and even continues until 
death. How often do we see some children the idols 
of the house, behaving like absolute tyrants, and treat¬ 
ing their brothers and sisters as so many slaves accord¬ 
ing to the example of father and mother. And it 
happens many times, that the favorite proves a scourge 
to the parents, while the poor despised and hated one 
becomes at length their whole consolation and support. 

My mother was very defective in the education of 
her children. She suffered me whole days from her 
presence, in company with the servants, whose conver¬ 
sation and example were particularly hurtful to one of 
my disposition. My mother’s heart seemed wholly 
centered in my brother; so that I was scarcely ever 
favored with the smallest instance of her tenderness or 
affection. I therefore voluntarily absented myself from 
her. It is true, my brother was more amiable than I, 
but the excess of her fondness for him, made her blind 
even to my outward good qualities, and served only to 
discover my faults, which would have been but trifling 
had proper care been taken of me. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON 


13 


CHAPTER ITT. 

My father, who loved me tenderly, seeing how little 
my education was attended to, sent me to a convent 
of the Ursulines. I was then near seven years old. In 
this house were two hah sisters of mine, the one by 
my father, the other by my mother. My father placed 
me under his daughter's care, whom I may affirm to 
be a person of the greatest capacity and most exalted 
piety, and excellently qualified for the instruction of 
youth. This was a singular dispensation of God’s 
providence and love towards me, and proved the first 
means of my salvation. She loved me tenderly, and 
her affection made her discover in me many amiable 
qualities, which the Lord of great goodness had 
implanted in me. She endeavored to improve these 
good qualities, and I believe that had I continued in 
such careful hands, I should have acquired as many 
virtuous habits as I afterwards contracted evil ones. 

This good sister employed her time in instructing 
me in piety, and in such branches of learning as were 
suitable to my age and capacity. She had good 
talents, and improved them well; was frequent in 
prayer, and her faith was as great as that of most 
persons. She denied herself every other pleasure, to 
be with me and to instruct me. Nay, such was her 
affection for me, that it made her find, as she told me, 
more pleasure with me than anywhere else. 

If I made her agreeable answers, though more 


14 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


from chance than from judgment, she thought herself 
well paid for all her labor. In short, under her care I 
soon became mistress of most studies suitable for me, 
insomuch that many grown persons of rank could not 
have answered the questions which I did. 

As my father often sent for me, desiring to see me 
at home, I found at one time the Queen of England 
there. I was then near eight years of age. My father 
told the Queen’s confessor, that if he wanted a little 
amusement, he might entertain himself with me, and 
propound some questions to me. He tried me with 
several very difficult ones, to which I returned such 
pertinent answers, that he carried me to the Queen, 
and said to her, “Your majesty must have some diver¬ 
sion with this child.” She also tried me; and was so 
well pleased with my lively answers, and my manners, 
that she demanded me of my father with no small 
importunity, assuring him that she would take particu¬ 
lar care of me, designing me for maid of honor to the 
princess. But my father resisted so far as to disoblige 
her. Doubtless it was God who caused this refusal, 
and thereby turned off the stroke which might have 
probably intercepted my salvation; for being so weak 
as I was, how could I have withstood the temptations 
and distractions of a Court? 

I went back to the Ursulines, where my good sister 
continued her affection. But as she was not the mis¬ 
tress of the boarders, and I was obliged sometimes to 
go along with them, I contracted bad habita I be¬ 
came addicted to lying, peevishness and indevotion, 
passing whole days without thinking on God; though 
he watched continually over me, as the sequel will 
manifest. I did not remain long under the power of 



THE LIFE OF MADAME GTJYON. 


15 


such vicious habits; for my sister’s care recovered me. 
I loved much to hear of God, was not weary of Church, 
loved to pray, had tenderness for the poor, and a 
natural dislike for persons whose doctrine was judged 
unsound. God has always continued to me this grace, 
in the midst of my greatest infidelities. 

There was at the end of the garden connected 
with this convent, a little chapel dedicated to the child 
Jesus. To this I betook myself for devotion; and, for 
some time, carrying my breakfast thither every morn¬ 
ing, I hid it all behind his image; for I was so much a 
child, that I thought I made a considerable sacrifice in 
depriving myself of it. Being also delicate in my 
choice of food, I wished to mortify myself; but found 
self-love still too prevalent, to submit to such mortifica¬ 
tion. After this, when they were cleaning out this 
chapel, they found behind the image what I had left 
there, and presently guessed that it was I, as they had 
seen me every day going thither. I believe that God, 
who lets nothing pass without a recompense, soon 
rewarded me with interest for this little infantine 
devotion. 

I continued some time with my sister, where I 
retained the love and fear of God. My life was easy; 
I was educated agreeably with her. I improved much 
while I had my health; but very often I was sick, and 
seized with maladies as sudden as they were uncom¬ 
mon. In the evening well, and in the morning swelled 
and full of bluish marks, symptoms of a fever which 
soon followed. At nine years of age, I was taken with 
so violent a fit of hemorrhage, that they thought I was 
going to die. I was rendered exceedingly weak 
thereby. 


16 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


A little before this severe attack, my other sister 
became jealous, wanting to have me in her turn. 
Though she led a good life, yet she had not a talent 
for the education of children. At first she caressed me 
much; but all her caresses made no impression upon 
my heart. My other sister did more with a look, than 
she with either caresses or threatenings. As she saw 
that I loved her not so well as the other, she changed 
her fondling to rigorous treatment. She would not 
allow me to speak to my other sister; and when she 
knew I had spoken to her, she had me whipped, or else 
beat me herself. I could no longer hold out against 
such severe usage, and therefore requited with appa¬ 
rent ingratitude all the favors of my paternal sister, 
going no more to see her. But this did not hinder her 
from giving me marks of her usual goodness, in the 
severe malady just mentioned. She kindly construed 
my ingratitude to be rather owing to my fear of chas¬ 
tisement, that to a bad heart. Indeed, I believe this 
was the only instance in which fear of chastisement 
operated so powerfully upon me, for, from that time I 
suffered more in occasioning pain to one I loved, than 
in suffering myself at their hand. Thou knowest, 
O my Beloved, that it was not the dread of thy chas¬ 
tisements that sunk so deep, either into my under¬ 
standing or my heart; it was the sorrow for offending 
thee whichever constituted the whole of my distress; 
which was so great, that I imagine if there were neither 
heaven nor hell, I should always have retained the 
same fear of displeasing thee. Thou knowest that after 
my faults, when, in forgiving mercy, thou wert pleased 
to visit my soul, thy caresses were a thousand-fold 
more insupportable than thy rod. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


17 


My father being informed of all that passed, took 
me home again. I wa3 at that time near ten years of 
age. I stayed only a little while at home; for a mm of 
the order of St. Dominie, of a great family, and one of 
my father’s intimate friends, solicited him to place me 
in her convent, of which she was the prioress, promis¬ 
ing she would take care of me herself, and make me 
lodge in her own chamber; for this lady had conceived 
a great affection for me. But she was so taken up 
with her community, in which many troublesome 
events occurred, that she was not at liberty to take 
much care of me. Here I had the chicken-pox, which 
made me keep my bed three weeks, in which I had 
very bad attendance, though my father and mother 
thought I was under excellent care. The ladies of the 
house had such a dread of the small-pox, as they imag¬ 
ined mine to be, that they durst not come near me. 
I passed almost all the time without seeing anybody, 
but a lay-sister, who only brought me my allowance of 
diet at the set hours, and then immediately went off 
again. I providentially found a Bible in my chamber, 
and having both a fondness for reading and a happy 
memory, I spent whole days in reading it from morning 
to night, and learned entirely the historical part. Yet, 
I was really very unhappy in this house; for the other 
boarders, being large girls, distressed me with very 
grievous persecutions. I was so much neglected, as to 
food, that I fell away, and became quite emaciated. 
Several other crosses I had, which were very hard for 
me to bear. 


18 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


CHAPTER IV. 

After having been here about eight months, my 
father took me home again. My mother kept me more 
with her, beginning to have a higher regard for me 
than before; yet she still preferred my brother, which 
was so visible, that every one spoke of it with dislike. 
Even when I was sick and met with anything I liked, 
he demanded it. It was then taken from me, and 
given to him, though he was in perfectly good health. 
He was continually giving me new vexations. One 
day he made me mount upon the top of the coach; 
when he had done that, he threw me down on the 
ground, and by the fall I was very much bruised. At 
other times he beat me. But whatever he did, how¬ 
ever wrong, it was winked at, or had the most favor¬ 
able construction put upon it. This conduct soured 
my temper. I had little disposition to do good, say¬ 
ing, “I was never the better for it.” It was not then 
for thee alone, O God, that I did good; since I ceased 
to do it, when it met not with such a reception from 
others as I wanted. Had I known how to make a right 
use of this thy crucifying conduct toward me, I should 
have made a good progress. Ear from turning me out 
of the way, it would have made me turn more wholly 
to thee. 

I looked with jealous eyes on my brother, seeing 
the difference made betwixt him and me. Whatever 
he did was considered well; but if there was blame, it 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GTTYON. 


19 


fell on me. My step-sisters by the mother, gained her 
good mil by caressing him and persecuting me. It is 
true, I was bad. I relapsed into my former faults of 
lying and peevishness. With all these faults I was very 
tender and charitable to the poor, prayed to God assid¬ 
uously, loved to hear any one speak of him, and to 
read good books. 

I doubt not that you will be amazed at such a 
series of inconsistencies; but what succeeds will sur¬ 
prise you yet more, when you see this manner of 
acting gain ground with my years, and that as my 
reason ripened, it was so far from correcting such 
irrational conduct, that sin grew more powerful in 
me. O my God, thy grace seemed to be redoubled 
in proportion to the increase of my ingratitude. It 
was with me as with a city besieged,—thou didst sur¬ 
round my heart, and I only studied how to defend 
myself against thy attacks; I raised fortifications about 
the wretched place, adding every day to the number of 
my iniquities, to prevent thee taking it. And when 
there was an appearance of thy becoming victorious 
over this ungrateful heart, I raised a counter-battery, 
and threw up ramparts to keep off thy goodness, and 
to hinder the course of thy grace: none other could 
have conquered than thyself. Oh, my Divine Love, 
whose sacred fire was stronger than that state of death, 
into which sin had so often reduced me. 

I cannot bear to hear it said, “ We are not free to 
resist grace.” I have had too long and fatal an experi¬ 
ence of my liberty. I closed up the avenues of my 
heart, that I might not so much as hear that secret 
voice of God, which was calling me to himself. I have 
indeed, from my tenderest youth, passed through a 


20 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


series of grievances, either by maladies or by persecu¬ 
tions. The girl to whose care my mother left me, in 
dressing my head used to beat me, and did not make 
me turn it but with rage and blows. Everything 
seemed in concert to punish me, but this instead of 
making me turn unto thee, O my God, only served to 
afflict and embitter my mind. My father knew noth¬ 
ing of all this; for his love to me was such that he 
would not have suffered it. I loved him very much, 
but at the same time I feared him, so that I told him 
nothing of it. My mother was often teasing him with 
complaints of me, to which he made no other reply 
than, “There are twelve hours in the day; she’ll grow 
wiser.” This rigorous proceeding was not the worst 
for my soul, though it soured my temper, which was 
otherwise mild and easy. But what caused my great¬ 
est hurt was, that not being able to endure those who 
treated me ill, I chose to be among those who caressed 
me, in order to corrupt and spoil me. 

My father, seeing I was now grown pretty tall, 
placed me in Lent among the Ursulines, to receive my 
first communion at Easter, at which time I was to 
complete my eleventh year. And here my most dear 
sister, under whose inspection my father placed me, 
redoubled her cares, to cause me to make the best 
preparation possible for this act of devotion. I thought 
now of giving myself to God in good earnest. I often 
felt a combat between my good inclinations and my 
bad habits. I even did some penances. As I was 
almost alwiys with my sister, and as the boarders in 
her class, which was the first, were very reasonable 
and civil, I became such also, while among them. It 
had been cruel to educate me badly; for my very 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GTJYON. 


21 


nature was strongly disposed to goodness, and I loved 
everything that tended thereto. Easily won with 
mijdness, I did with pleasure whatever my good sister 
desired. At length Easter arrived, and I received the 
communion with much joy and devotion. And in this 
house I staid till Whitsuntide. But as my other sister 
was mistress of the second class, she demanded that in 
her week I should be with her in that class. Her man¬ 
ners, so opposite to the other’s, made me relax my 
former piety. I felt no more that new and delightful 
ardor which had seized my heart at my first commu¬ 
nion. Alas! it held but a short time; for my faults 
and failings were soon reiterated, and drew me off 
from the care and duties of religion. 

As I now grew very tall for my age, and more to 
my mother’s liking than before, she took care to deck 
and dress me out, to make me see company, and to 
take me abroad with her. She took an inordinate 
pride in that beauty with which God had formed me, 
only to bless and praise him, which, however, was per¬ 
verted by me into a source of pride and vanity. Sev¬ 
eral suitors offered to me; but as I was not yet twelve 
years of age, my father would not listen to any pro¬ 
posals. I loved reading much, and shut myself up 
alone every day to read without interruption. 

What proved effectual to gain me over entirely to 
God, at least for a time, was that a nephew of my 
father’s passed by our house, going on a mission to 
Cochin China. I happened at that time to be taking 
a walk with my companions, which I seldom did. At 
my return he was gone. They gave me an account of his 
sanctity, and the things he had said. I was so touched 
therewith, that I was overcome with sorrow. I cried 


22 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GTJYON. 


all tlie rest of the day and of the night. Early in the 
morning, I went in great distress to seek my confessor. 
I said to him, “What! my father, am I the only person 
in our family to be lost? Alas! help me in my salva¬ 
tion.” He was greatly surprised to see me so much 
afflicted, and comforted me in the best manner he 
could, not thinking me so bad as I was; for in the 
midst of my backslidings I was docile, punctual in 
obedience, careful to confess often; and since I went 
to him my life was more regular. Oh, thou God of 
love, how often hast thou knocked at the door of my 
heart! how often terrified me with appearances of 
sudden death! Yet all these only made a transient 
impression. I presently returned again to my infideli- 
ities; but this time thou didst take, and I may say 
quite carried off my heart. Alas, what grief I now sus¬ 
tained for having displeased thee! what regrets, what 
exclamations, what sobbings! Who would have 
thought, to see me, but that my conversion would 
have lasted as long as my life ? Why didst thou not, 
O my God, utterly take this heart to thyself, when I 
gave it to thee so fully; or, if thou didst take it then, 
oh, why didst thou let it revolt again afterward? 
Thou wast surely strong enough to hold it, but thou 
wouldst perhaps, in leaving me to myself display thy 
mercy, that the depth of my iniquity might serve as a 
trophy to thy goodness. 

I immediately applied myself to every part of my 
duty. I made a general confession with great com¬ 
punction of heart. I frankly confessed all that I knew 
with many tears. I became so changed that I was 
scarce to be known. I would not for ever so much 
have made the least voluntary slip; and they found 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


23 


not any matter for absolution when I confessed. I 
discovered the very smallest faults; and God did me 
the favor to enable me to conquer myself in many 
things. There were left only some remains of passion, 
which gave me some trouble to conquer. But as soon 
as I had by means thereof, given any displeasure, even 
to the domestics, I begged their pardon, in order to 
subdue at the same time, my wrath and pride; for 
wrath is the daughter of pride. A person truly hum¬ 
bled suffers not anything to put him in a rage. As it 
is pride which dies the last in the soul, so it is passion 
which is last destroyed in the outward conduct. A 
soul thoroughly annihilated, or dead to itself, finds 
nothing of rage left. 

There are persons who, being very much filled with 
the unction of grace, and with a tranquil peace, at their 
entrance of the resigned path of light and love, think 
they are come thus far. But they are greatly mis¬ 
taken, in this view of their state. This they will 
readily discover, if they are heartily willing to examine 
two things: first, if their nature is lively, warm and 
violent, (for I speak not of stupid tempers,) they will 
find, from time to time, that they make slips, in which 
trouble and emotion have some share; and which even 
then are useful to humble and annihilate them. (But 
when annihilation is perfected all passion is gone, for 
it is incompatible with this state.) Moreover, they will 
find that there often arises in them certain motions of 
anger, but the sweetness of grace holds them back by a 
secret violence. They would easily transgress, if in any 
wise they gave way to these motions. There are per¬ 
sons who think themselves very mild, because nothing 
thwarts them. It is not of such that I am speaking: 





24 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


for the mildness which has never been put to the proof, 
is often only counterfeit. Those persons who, when 
unmolested, appear to be saints, are no sooner exer¬ 
cised by vexing occurrences, than there starts up in 
them a strange number of faults, which they had 
thought to be dead; and which only lay dormant 
because nothing awakened them. 

I followed my religious exercises. I shut myself 
up all the day to read and pray. I gave all I had to 
to the poor taking even linen to their houses to make 
them necessaries. I taught them the catechism; and, 
when my parents dined abroad, I made them eat with 
me, and served them with great respect. I read the 
works of St. Francis de Sales and the life of Madam de 
Chantal. There I first learnt what mental prayer was, 
and I besought my confessor to teach me that kind of 
prayer, but as he did not, I used my own endeavors to 
practice it, though without success, as I then thought, 
because I could not exercise the imagination; and per¬ 
suaded myself, that that prayer could not be made 
without forming to one’s self certain ideas and reason¬ 
ing much. This difficulty gave me no small trouble, 
for a long time. I was nevertheless very assiduous 
therein, and prayed earnestly to God to give me the 
gift of prayer. All that I saw in the life of M. de Chan¬ 
tal charmed me; and I was so much a child, that I 
thought I ought to do everything I saw in it. All the 
vows she had made I made also, as that of ever aiming 
at the highest perfection, and of doing the will of God 
in everything. One day as I was reading that she had 
put the name of Jesus on her heart, to follow the coun¬ 
sel of the spouse—“ Set me as a seal upon thy heart,” 
and that for this purpose she had taken a red-hot iron, 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


25 


whereupon the holy name was engraven, I was very 
much afflicted that I could not do the same. I took it 
in my head to write that sacred and adorable name, in 
large characters, on a piece of paper, then with ribbands 
and a needle I fastened it to my skin in four places; 
and in that position it continued a long time. 

After this, I turned all my thoughts to become a 
nun, very often going to the visitation; because the 
love which I had for St. Francis de Sales did not per¬ 
mit me to think of any other community than this of 
which he was the founder. I frequently went to beg 
the nuns there to receive me into their convent. Often 
I stole out of my father’s house to go thither, and 
repeatedly solicited them to consent to my admission. 
But, though it was what they eagerly desired, even as 
a temporal advantage, yet they never durst let me 
enter their house, as they very much feared my father, 
whose fondness for me they were no strangers to. 
There was then at that house a niece of my father’s, to 
whom I am under great obligations. Fortune had not 
been very favorable to her father, and had reduced her 
in some measure to depend on mine, to whom she 
made known my inclination. Although he would not 
for anything in the world have hindered a right voca¬ 
tion, yet he could not hear of my design without shed¬ 
ding tears. But as he happened at this time to be 
abroad, my cousin went to my confessor, to desire him 
to forbid my going to the visitation. He durst not, 
however, do it plainly, for fear of drawing on himself 
the resentment of that community. Yet I still wanted 
to be a nun, and importuned my mother excessively 
to take me to that house; but she would not do it, for 
fear of grieving my father, who was yet absent 


26 


THE LIFE OF MABAIOT, GUYON. 


CHAPTER Y. 

No sooner was my father returned home, than he 
fell into a violent illness. My mother was at the 
same time indisposed in another part of the house. I 
was then all alone with him, ready to render him every 
kind of service I was capable of, and to give him all 
the dutiful marks of a most sincere affection. And I 
do not doubt but my assiduity was very agreeable to 
him. I performed the most menial offices unperceived 
by him, taking the time for it when the servants were 
not at hand; as well to mortify myself as to pay due 
honor to what Jesus Christ said, that he came not to 
be ministered to, but to minister. When he made me 
read to him, I read with such heart-felt devotion that 
he was surprised at it. I remembered the instruction 
my sister had given me, and the ejaculatory prayers 
and praises I had learned from her. She had taught 
me to praise thee, 0 my God, in all thy works. All 
that I saw called upon me to render thee homage. If 
it rained, I wished every drop to be changed into love 
and praises. My heart was nourished insensibly with 
thy love; and my spirit was incessantly engrossed with 
the remembrance of thee. I seemed to join and par¬ 
take in all the good that was done in the world, and 
could have wished to have the united hearts of all men 
to love thee. This habit rooted itself so strongly in 
me, that I retained it throughout my greatest wander- 
ings. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GTJYON. 


27 


My cousin aforementioned helped not a little, 
to support me in these good sentiments; for I was 
often with her, and loved her, as she took great care of 
me, and treated me with much gentleness. Her for¬ 
tune being equal neither to her birth nor her virtue, 
she did with charity and affection what her condition 
obliged her to. My mother grew jealous, fearing I 
should love my cousin too well and herself too little. 
She who had left me in my young years to the care of 
her maids, and since that to my own, only inquiring if 
I was in the house and troubling herself no further, 
now required me always to stay with her, and never 
suffered me to be with my cousin but with very great 
reluctance. My cousin fell ill; she took that occasion 
to send her home, which was a very severe stroke to 
my heart, as well as to that grace which began to 
dawn in me. 

Though my mother acted thus, she was a very vir¬ 
tuous woman. But God permitted it for my exercise. 
She was one of the most charitable women of her age. 
She not only gave away the surplus, but even the nec¬ 
essaries of the house. Never were the needy neglected 
by her. Never any wretch came to her without succor. 
She furnished poor mechanics wherewith to carry on 
their work, and needy tradesmen wherewith to supply 
their shops. From her, I think, I inherited my charity 
and love for the poor; for God favored me with the 
blessing of being her successor in that holy exercise. 
There was not one in the town, or its environs, who 
did not praise her for this great virtue. She has 
sometimes given to the last penny in the house, 
though she had so large a family to maintain, and yet 
she did not fail in her faith. 

2 


28 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


My mother’s only care about me had been all along 
to have me in the house, which indeed is one material 
point for a girL And this habit of being so constantly 
kept within, proved of great service to me after my 
marriage, as I shall tell in its due course. It would 
have been better had she kept me more in her own 
apartment, with an agreeable freedom; and inquired 
oftener what part of the house I was in. 

After my cousin left me I continued for some time 
in those sentiments of piety I have mentioned. And 
God granted me the grace to forgive injuries with 
such readiness, that my confessor was surprised; as he 
knew that some young ladies had, out of envy, tra¬ 
duced me; and that I spoke well of them as occasion 
offered. I was seized with an ague, which lasted four 
months, in which I suffered much; yet during that 
time, I was enabled to suffer with much resignation 
and patience. In this frame of mind and manner of 
life I persevered, so long as I continued the practice 
of mental prayer. 

Near a twelvemonth after, we went to pass some 
days in the country. My father took along with us 
one of his relations, a very accomplished young gentle¬ 
man. He had a great desire to marry me; but my 
father, who had resolved not to give me to any near 
kinHman, on account of the difficulty of obtaining dis¬ 
pensations, put him off, without alleging any false or 
frivolous reasons for it. As this young gentleman was 
very devout, and every day said the office of the Vir¬ 
gin, I said it with him; and to have time for it, left off 
prayer, which was to me the first inlet of evils. Yet, I 
kept up for a long time some share of the spirit of 
piety; for I went to seek out the little shepherdesses, 


TEE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


29 


to instruct them in their religious duties. Yet this 
spirit gradually decayed, not being nourished by 
prayer. Hereby I became cold toward God. All my 
old faults revived, to which I added an excessive van¬ 
ity. The love I began to have for myself, extinguished 
what remained in me of the love of God. 

I did not wholly leave off mental prayer, with¬ 
out asking my confessor’s leave. I told him I thought 
it better to say the office of the Virgin every day, than 
to practice prayer; as I had not time for both. I saw 
not that this' was a stratagem of the enemy to draw me 
from God, and to entangle me in the snares he had 
laid for me. In truth I had time sufficient for both, as 
I had no other occupation than what I prescribed to 
myself. My confessor was easy in the matter; not 
being a man of prayer, he gave his consent, to my 
great hurt. 

Oh, my God, if the value of prayer were but known, 
the great advantage which accrues to the soul from 
conversing with thee, and what consequence it is of to 
salvation, everyone would be assiduous in it. It is a 
strong hold into which the enemy cannot enter. He 
may attack it, besiege it, make a noise about its walls; 
but while we are faithful and hold our station, he can¬ 
not hurt us. It is alike requisite to dictate to children 
the necessity of prayer as of their salvation; but, alas! 
unhappily, it is thought sufficient to tell them that 
there is a heaven and a hell; that they must endeavor 
to avoid the latter and attain the former; and yet they 
are not taught the shortest and easiest way of arriving 
at it. The only way to heaven is prayer; a prayer of 
the heart, which every one is capable of, and not of 
reasonings which are the fruits of study, or exercise of 


30 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


the imagination, which, in filling the mind with wan¬ 
dering objects, rarely settle it; and instead of warming 
the heart with love to God, leave it cold and languish¬ 
ing. Let the poor come, let the ignorant and carnal 
come; let the children without reason or knowledge 
come, let the dull or hard hearts which can retain 
nothing come to the practice of' prayer, and they shall 
become wise. O ye great, wise and rich, Have ye not 
a heart capable of loving what is proper for you, and 
of hating what is destructive? Love the sovereign 
good, hate all evil, and ye will be truly wise. When 
ye love anyone, is it because ye know the reasons of 
love and its definitions? No, certainly. Ye love 
because your heart is formed to love what it finds 
amiable. And surely ye cannot but know that there 
is nought lovely in the universe but God. Know ye 
not that he has created you, that he has died for you? 
But if these reasons are not sufficient, which of you has 
not some necessity, some trouble, or some misfortune ? 
Which of you does not know how to tell his malady, 
and beg relief? Come, then, to this Fountain of all 
good, without complaining to weak and impotent 
creatures, who cannot help you; come to prayer; lay 
before God your troubles, beg his grace—and above 
all, that you may love him. None can exempt him¬ 
self from loving; for none can live without a heart, nor 
the heart without love. 

Why should any amuse themselves, in seeking 
reasons for loving Love itself? Let us love without 
reasoning about it, and we shall find ourselves filled 
with love, before the others have learned the reasons 
which induced to it. Make trial of this love, and you 
will be wiser in it than the most skillful philosophers. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


31 


In love, as in everything else, experience instructs better 
than reasoning. Oh, come then, drink at this fountain 
of living waters, instead of the broken cisterns of the 
creature, which far from allaying your thirst, only tends 
continually to augment it. Did ye once drink at this 
fountain, ye would not seek elsewhere for anything to 
quench your thirst; for while ye still continue to draw 
from this source, ye would thirst no longer after the 
world. But if ye quit it, alas! the enemy has the 
ascendant. He will give you of his poisoned draughts, 
which may have an apparent sweetness, but will assur¬ 
edly rob you of life. 

Thus, I forsook the fountain of living water when I 
left off prayer. I became as a vineyard exposed to 
pillage, whose hedges tom down give liberty to all the 
passengers to ravage it. I began to seek in the crea¬ 
ture what I had found in God. He left me to myself, 
because I first left him; and it was his will by permit¬ 
ting me to sink into the horrible pit, to make me feel 
the necessity I was in of approaching him in prayer. 
Thou hast said, that thou wilt destroy those adulterous 
souls who depart from thee. Alas! it is their depart¬ 
ure alone which causes their destruction, since, in 
departing from thee, O Sun of Righteousness, they 
enter into the regions of darkness and the coldness of 
death, from which they would never rise, if thou didst 
not revisit them; if thou didst not by thy divine fight, 
illuminate their darkness, and by thy enlivening 
warmth, melt their icy hearts, and restore them to fife. 

I fell then into the greatest of all misfortunes; for 
I wandered yet further and further from thee, O my 
God, and thou didst gradually retire from a heart 
which had quitted thee. Yet such is thy goodness, 


32 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


that it seemed as if thou hadst left me with regret; 
and when this heart was desirous to return again unto 
thee, with what speed didst thou come to meet it 
This proof of thy love and mercy, shall be to me an 
everlasting testimony of thy goodness and of my own 
ingratitude. 

I became still more passionate than I had ever 
been, as age gave more force to nature. I was fre¬ 
quently guilty of lying; I felt my heart corrupt and 
vain; the spark of divine grace was almost extinguished 
in me, and I fell into a state of indifference and inde¬ 
votion; though I still carefully kept up outside appear¬ 
ances; and the habit I had acquired of behaving at 
Church, made me appear better than I was. Vanity, 
which had been excluded my heart, now resumed its 
seat. I began to pass a great part of my time before 
a looking-glass. I found so much pleasure in viewing 
myself therein, that I thought others were in the right 
who practised the same. Instead of making use of 
this exterior, which God had given me, that I might 
love him the more, it became to me only the means of a 
vain complacency. All seemed to me to look beautiful 
in my person, but I saw not that it covered a polluted 
soul—This rendered me so inwardly vain, that I doubt 
whether any ever exceeded me therein; but there was 
an affected modesty in my outward deportment that 
would have deceived the world 

The high esteem I had for myself made me find 
faults in everyone else of my own sex. I had no 
eyes but to see my own good qualities, and to discover 
the defects of others. I hid my own faults from myself, 
or if I remarked any, yet to me they appeared little in 
comparison of others. I excused, and even figured them 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


33 


to myself as perfections. Every idea I liad of others 
and of myself was false. I loved reading to such 
excess, particularly romances, that I spent whole days 
and nights at them; sometimes the day broke whilst I 
continued to read, insomuch, that for a length of time 
I almost lost the habit of sleeping. I was ever eager 
to get to the end of the book, in hopes of finding some¬ 
thing to satisfy a certain craving which I found within 
me, but my thirst for reading was only increased the 
more I read. These books are strange inventions to 
destroy youth; for if they caused no other hurt than 
the loss of our precious time, is not that too much? 
I was not restrained, but rather encouraged to read 
them under this fallacious pretext—that they taught 
one to speak well. 

Meanwhile, through thy abundant mercy, O my 
God, thou earnest to seek me from time to time. Thou 
didst indeed knock at the door of my heart,—I was 
often penetrated with the most lively sorrow and shed 
abundance of tears,—I was afflicted to find my state so 
different from what it was when I enjoyed thy sacred 
presence; but my tears were fruitless and my grief in 
vain. I could not of myself get out of this wretched 
state. I wished some hand as charitable as powerful 
would extricate me, but as for myself I had no power. 
If I had had any friend, who would have examined the 
cause of this evil, and made me have recourse again to 
prayer, which was the only means of relief, all would 
have been well I was (like the prophet) in a deep 
abyss of mire, which I could not get out off I met 
with reprimands for being in it, but none were kind 
enough to reach out a helping hand to free me. &nd 
when I tried vain efforts to get out, I only sunk tne 


84 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


deeper, and each fruitless attempt only made me see 
my own impotence, and rendered me more afflicted. 

Oh, how much compassion has this sad experience 
given me for sinners, as it has taught me why so 
few of them emerge from the miserable state into 
which they have fallen; because such as see it only cry 
out against their disorders, and frighten them with 
threats of future punishment. These cries and threats 
at first make some impression, and they use some weak 
efforts after liberty; but, after having experienced their 
insufficiency, they gradually abate in their design, and 
lose their courage for trying any more; and all that 
man can say to them afterwards is but lost labor, 
though one preach to them incessantly. When any for 
relief run to confess, the only true remedy for them is 
prayer; to present themselves before God as criminals; 
and to beg strength of him to rise out of this state. 
Then would they soon be changed, and brought out of 
the mire and clay. But the devil has falsely persuaded 
the doctors and the wise men of the age, that, in order 
to pray, it is necessary first to be perfectly converted. 
Hence people are dissuaded from it, and hence there 
is rarely any conversion that is durable. The devil is 
outrageous only against prayer, and those that exercise 
it; because he knows it is the true means of taking his 
prey from him. He lets us undergo all the austerities 
we will, and neither persecutes those that enjoy them 
nor those that practice them. But no sooner does one 
enter into a spiritual life, a life of prayer, but they 
must prepare for strange crosses; as all manner of per¬ 
secutions and contempts in this world are reserved for 
that life. 

Miserable as the condition was to which I was 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


35 


reduced by my infidelities, and the little help I had 
from my confessor, I did not fail to say my vocal 
prayers every day, to confess pretty often, and to par¬ 
take of the communion almost every fortnight. Some¬ 
times I went to Church to weep, and to pray to the 
Blessed Virgin to obtain my conversion I loved to 
hear anyone speak of God, and would never tire of the 
conversation. When my father spoke of him, I was 
transported with joy; and when he and my mother 
went on any pilgrimage, and were to set off early in 
the morning, I either did not go to bed the night 
before, or hired the girls to awake me early. My fath¬ 
er’s conversation at such times was always of divine 
matters, which afforded me the highest delight, and I 
preferred that subject to any other. I also loved the 
poor, and was charitable, even whilst I was so very 
faulty as I have described. How strange may this 
seem to some, and how hard to reconcile things so 
very opposite. 


36 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


CHAPTER VL 

Afterwards we came to Paris, where my vanity 
increased. No course was spared to make me appear 
to advantage. I was forward enough to show myself 
and expose my pride, in making a parade of this vain 
beauty, wanting to be loved of everyone and to love 
none. Several apparently advantageous offers of mar¬ 
riage were made for me; but God, unwilling to have 
me lost, did not permit matters to succeed. My father 
still found difficulties, which my all-wise Creator raised 
for my salvation; for had I married any of these per¬ 
sons, I should have been much exposed, and my vanity 
would have had means to extend itself in a wider circle. 

There was one person who had asked for me in 
marriage for several years, whom my father, for family 
reasons, had always refused. His manners were oppos¬ 
ite to my vanity. But, a fear lest I should leave 
my country, together with the affluent circumstances 
of this gentleman, induced my father, in spite of both 
his own and my mother’s reluctance, to promise me to 
him; which was done without consulting me. They 
made me sign the marriage articles without letting me 
know what they were; though I was well pleased with 
the thoughts of marriage, flattering myself with a hope 
of being thereby set at full liberty, and delivered from 
the ill-treatment of my mother, which I drew upon 
myself by my want of docility. Yet God ordered it 
far otherwise; and the condition which I found myself 


TEE UFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


37 


in afterwards, frustrated my hopes, as I shall show in 
the sequel 

Pleasing as marriage was to my thoughts, I was all 
the time, after my being'promised, and even long after 
my marriage, in extreme confusion, which arose from 
two causes: The first was my natural modesty, which I 
did not lose. I had much reserve towards men. The 
other was my vanity; for though the husband provided 
was a more advantageous match than I merited, yet I 
did not think him such. And the figure which the 
others made, who had offered to me before, was vastly 
more engaging. Their rank would have placed me in 
view. And as I consulted, in these things, nothing but 
my vanity, whatever did not flatter that, was to me 
insupportable. Yet this very vanity was, I think, of 
some advantage to me; for ithindered me from falling 
into such things as cause the ruin of families. I would 
not do anything which in the eye of the world, might 
render me culpable; so strictly did I guard my exterior 
conduct. As I was modest at Church, and had not 
been used to go abroad without my mother, and as the 
reputation of our house was great, I passed for vir¬ 
tuous. 

I did not see my spouse elect (at Paris) till two or 
three days before our marriage. X caused masses to 
be said all the time after my being contracted, to know 
the will of God; as I wished to do it in this affair at 
least. Oh, my God, how great was thy goodness, to 
bear with me at this time, and to allow me to pray to 
thee with as much boldness, as if I had been one of 
thy friends, I who had rebelled against thee as thy 
greatest enemy. 

The joy of our nuptials was universal through our 


38 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUTON. 


village. Amidst this general rejoicing, there appeared 
none sad but myself. I could neither laugh as others 
did, nor even eat; so much was I depressed, though as 
yet I knew not the cause. But it was a foretaste 
which God gave me of what was to befall me. The 
remembrance of the desire I had of being a nun, came 
pouring in upon me. All who came to compliment 
me, the day after, could not forbear rallying me, 
because I wept bitterly. I answered them: “Alas! I 
had desired so much to be a nun; why then am I now 
married? And by what fatality has such a revolution 
befallen me? No sooner was I at the house of my 
new spouse, than I perceived that it would be for me 
a house of mourning. 

I was obliged here to change my conduct; for their 
manner of living was very different from that in my 
father’s house. My mother-in-law, who had long been 
a widow, regarded nothing else but economy; whereas, 
at my father’s house they lived in a noble manner, and 
great elegance; and what my husband and mother-in- 
law called pride, and I called politeness, was observed 
there. I was very much surprised at this change, and 
so much the more, as my vanity wished to increase, 
rather than to be diminished. 

At the time of my marriage I was a little past 
fifteen years of age. My surprise increased greatly, 
when I saw I must lose what I had acquired with so 
much application. At my father’s house we were 
obliged to behave in a genteel way, and to speak with 
propriety. There all that I said was applauded. Here 
they never hearkened to me, but to contradict and find 
fault. If I spoke well, they said it was to give them a 
lesson. If any questions were started at my father’s, 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


39 


he encouraged me to speak freely on such occasions; 
but here, if I spoke my sentiments, they said it was to 
enter into a dispute. They put me to silence in an 
abrupt and shameful maimer, and scolded me from 
morning till night. 

I should have some difficulty to give you an account 
of such matters, which cannot be done without wound¬ 
ing charity, if you had not forbidden me to omit any 
one article, and if you had not positively enjoined upon 
me to lay open everything, and to write down all the 
particulars. But I request, before you proceed, not to 
look at things on the side of the creature, which would 
make these persons appear worse than they were; 
for my mother-in-law had virtue, my husband had 
religion, and not any vice. It is requisite to look at 
everything on the side of God, who permitted these 
things only for my salvation, and because he would 
not have me lost. I had beside so much pride, that 
had I received any other treatment, I should have con¬ 
tinued therein, and should not, perhaps, have turned 
to God, as I was afterwards induced to do, by the 
oppression of a multitude of crosses. 

To return to my subject, my mother-in-law con¬ 
ceived such a desire to oppose me in everything, that, 
in order to vex me, she made me perform the most 
h umilia ting offices; for her humor was so extraordi¬ 
nary, having never surmounted it in her youth, that 
she could hardly live with anybody. Saying no other 
than vocal prayers, she did not see this kind of fault; 
or seeing it, and not drawing from the forces of prayer, 
she could not get the better of it. And it was a pity, 
for she had both sense and merit. I was then made 
the victim of her humors. All her occupation was to 


40 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


thwart me continually, and she inspired the like senti¬ 
ments into her son. They would make persons far my 
inferiors take place above me. My mother, who had 
a high sense of honor, could not endure that. And 
when she heard it from others (for I told her nothing 
of it) she chided me, thinking I did it, not knowing 
how to keep my rank, and that I had no spirit; and 
upbraided me with many other things of that sort I 
durst not tell her how it was with me; but I was almost 
ready to die with the agonies of grief and continual 
vexation. And what aggravated them all, was the 
remembrance of the persons who had proposed for me, 
the difference of their humor and manners, the love 
they had for me, with their agreeableness and polite¬ 
ness. All this made my present position very doleful, 
and my burden intolerable. My mother-in-law up¬ 
braided me in regard to my family, and spoke to me 
incessantly to the disadvantage of my father and 
mother. I never went to see them, but I had some 
bitter speeches to bear on my return. 

On the other hand, my mother complained that I 
did not come often enough to see her. She said I did 
not love her, that I was alienated from my own family, 
by being too much attached to my husband; so that I 
had a great deal of heavy suffering to undergo on both 
sides. 

What/ still augmented my crosses was, that my 
mother related to my mother-in-law the pains I had 
cost her from my infancy. After which they reproached 
me, saying, I was a changeling, and an evil spirit. My 
husband obliged me to stay all day long in my mother- 
in-law’s room, without any liberty of retiring into my 
own apartment, so that I had not a moment’s respite to 



THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


41 


breathe a little. She spoke disadvantageous^ of me 
to every body, to lessen the affection and esteem which 
some had entertained for me, and galled me with the 
grossest affronts before the finest company. This had 
not the effect she wanted; for the more patiently they 
saw me bear it, the higher esteem they had for me. 

Indeed, she found the secret of extinguishing my 
vivacity, and rendering me stupid; so that some of my 
former acquaintances hardly knew me. Those who 
had not seen me before, said, “Is this the person famed 
for such abundance of wit? She can’t say two words. 
She is a fine picture.” I was not yet sixteen years old. 
I was so much intimidated, that I durst not go out 
without my mother-in-law, and in her presence I could 
not speak. I knew not what I said; so much fear had 
I of putting her out of humor, and drawing some bitter 
speech on myself. 

To complete my affliction, they presented me with 
a waiting-maid who was everything with them. She 
kept me in sight like a governess, and treated me in a 
strange manner. For the most part I bore with 
patience these evils which I had no way to avoid. But 
sometimes I let some hasty answer escape me, which 
was a source of grievous crosses to me, and violent 
reproaches Tor a long time together. When I went 
out, the footmen had orders to give an account of 
everything I did. It was then I began to eat the bread 
of sorrows, and to mingle tears with my drink. At the 
table they always did something to me, which covered 
me with confusion. I could not forbear tears, and 
thence had a double confusion,—one for what they 
said to me, and the other for not being able to refrain 
weeping. I had no one to confide in who might share 


42 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


my affliction, and assist me to bear it. When I 
would impart some hint of it to my mother, I drew 
upon myself new crosses, so that I resolved to have no 
confidant of my trouble. It was not from any natural 
cruelty that my husband treated me thus; for he loved 
me even passionately, but he was warm and hasty, and 
my mother-in-law continually irritated him about me. 

It was in a condition so deplorable, O my God, that 
I began to perceive the need I had of thy assistance. 
For this situation was perilous for me, as I met with 
none but admirers abroad, and such as flattered me to 
my hurt, it were to be feared, lest at such a tender age, 
amidst all the strange domestic crosses I had to bear, 
I might be drawn away. But thou, by thy goodness 
and love, gave it quite another turn. By these re¬ 
doubled strokes thou didst draw me to thyself, and by 
thy crosses effected what thy caresses could not effect. 
Nay, even then thou madest use of my natural pride, 
to keep me within the limits of my duty. I knew that 
a woman of honor ought never to give suspicion to her 
husband. I was so very circumspect on that head, 
that I often carried it to excess, so far as to refuse the 
hand to such as in politeness offered me theirs. There 
happened to me an adventure which, by carrying my 
prudence too far, had like to have ruined me, for 
things were taken contrary to their intent. But my 
husband was sensible both of my innocence and of the 
falsehood of the insinuations of my mother-in-law. 

Such weighty crosses made me return to God. I 
began to deplore the sins of my youth; for since my 
marriage I ha\^ not committed any voluntarily. Yet I 
still had some sentiments of vanity remaining, which. I 
wished not to have. However, my troubles now coun- 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


43 


ter-balanced them. Moreover, many of them appeared 
my just desert according to the little light I then had; 
for I was not illuminated to penetrate the essence of 
my vanity; I fixed my thoughts only on its appearance. 
I tried to amend my life by penance, and by a general 
confession, the most exact that I ever yet had made. 
I laid aside the reading of romances, for which I lately 
had such a fondness. Though some time before my 
marriage it had been damped by reading the Gospel, 
I was so much affected therewith, and discovered that 
character of truth therein, as to put me out of conceit 
with all the other books. Novels appeared then to 
me only full of lies and deceit. I now put away even 
indifferent books, to have none but such as were profit¬ 
able. I resumed the practice of prayer, and endeavored 
to offend my God no more. I felt his love gradually 
recovering the ascendant in my heart, and banishing 
every other. Yet I had still an intolerable vanity and 
self-complacency, which has been my most grievous 
and obstinate sin. 

My crosses redoubled every day. What rendered 
them more painful was, that my mother-in-law, not 
content with the bitterest speeches which she uttered 
against me, both in public and private, would break 
out in a passion about the smallest trifles, and scarcely 
be pacified for a fortnight together. I past a part of my 
time in bewailing myself when I could be alone; and 
my grief became every day more bitter. Sometimes I 
could not contain myself, when the girls, who were my 
domestics, and owed me submission, treated me so ill 
Nevertheless, I did what I could to subdue my temper, 
which has cost me not a little. 

Such stunning blows so impaired the vivacity of my 


44 THE LIFE OF MADAME GUY0N. 

nature, that I became like a lamb that is shorn. I 
prayed to our Lord to asist me, and he was my refuge. 
As my age differed from theirs (for my husband was 
twenty-two years older than I) I saw well that there 
was no probability of changing there humors, which 
were fortified with years. As I found that whatever I 
said was offensive, not excepting those things which 
others would have been pleased with, I knew not what 
to do. One day, weighed down with grief and in 
despair, about six months after I was married, being 
alone, I was tempted even to cut out my tongue, that 
I might no longer irritate those who seized every word 
I uttered with rage and resentment. But thou, O God, 
didst stop me short and showed me my folly. I prayed 
continually, and wished even to become dumb, so sim¬ 
ple and ignorant was L Though I have had my share 
of crosses, I never found any so difficult to support, as 
that of perpetual contrariety, without relaxation; of 
doing all one can to please, without succeeding therein, 
but even still offending by the very means designed to 
oblige; and being kept with such persons, in a most 
severe confinement, from morning till night, without 
ever daring to quit them. I have found that great 
crosses overwhelm, and stifle all anger at once. But 
such a continual contrariety irritates and stirs up a 
sourness in the heart. It has such a strange effect, that 
it requires the utmost efforts of self-restraint, not to 
break out into vexation and rage. 

Thus my condition in marriage was rather that of 
a slave than of a free person. And for a new augmen¬ 
tation of my disgraces, I perceived, four months after 
my marriage, that my husband was gouty. This mal¬ 
ady caused me many crosses, both within and without* 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUTON. 


45 


He liad the gout twice the first year, six weeks each 
time. Soon afterward it returned again; and he had 
it still worse than before. He was so much plagued 
with it, that he came no more out of his room, nor 
often out of his bed, which he usually kept for several 
months. I carefully attended him, though so very 
young. I did not fail to exert myself to the utmost in 
the performance of my duty. But, alas! all this did 
not gain me their friendship. I had not the consolation 
to know whether what I did was agreeable. I denied 
myself all the most innocent diversions, to continue 
with my husband; and did whatever I thought would 
please him. Sometimes he quietly suffered me, and 
then I esteemed myself very happy; but at other times 
I seemed insupportable to him. My particular friends 
said, “ I was of a fine age indeed to be a nurse to an 
invalid, and that it was a shameful thing that I did not 
set more value on my talents.” I answered them,— 
“ Since I had a husband, I ought to share his painful 
as well as his pleasing circumstances.” Besides this, 
my mother, instead of pitying me, reprimanded me 
sharply for my assiduity to my husband; assuring me 
that I should render myself unhappy by it; and that 
he would afterwards demand, as a duty, what I now 
did from choice. But, O my God, how different were 
thy thoughts from theirs,—how different that which 
was without, from what passed within! My husband 
had that foible, that when anyone said anything to 
him against me, he flew into a passion at once. It was 
the conduct of providence over me; for he was a man 
of reason and loved me much. When I was sick, he 
was inconsolable. I believe, had it not been for my 
mother-in-law, and the girl I have spoken of, I should 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


have been very happy with him. For most men have 
their passions, and it is the duty of a reasonable woman 
to bear them peaceably, without irritating them more 
by cross replies. 

These things thou hast ordered, O my God, in such 
a manner, by thy goodness, that I have since seen it 
was necessary, to make me die to my vain and haughty 
nature. I should not have had power to destroy it 
myself, if thou hadst not accomplished it by an all-wise 
economy of thy providence. I prayed for patience 
with great earnestness; nevertheless, some sallies of 
my natural liveliness escaped me, and vanquished the 
resolutions I had taken of being silent. This was 
doubtless permitted, that my self-love might not be 
nourished by my patience; for even a moment’s slip 
caused me months of humiliation, reproach and sorrow, 
and proved the occason of new crosses. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


47 


CHAPTER VIL 

During the first year I did not make a proper use 
of my afflictions. I was still vain. I sometimes lied, 
to excuse myself to my husband and mother-in-law, 
because I stood strangely in awe of them. Sometimes 
I fell into a passion, their conduct appeared so very 
unreasonable, and especially their countenancing the 
most provoking treatment of the girl who served me. 
For as to my mother-in-law, her age and rank rendered 
her conduct more tolerable. But thou, O my God, 
opened my eyes to see things in a very different light. 
I found in thee reasons for suffering, which I had never 
found in the creature. I afterwards saw clearly and 
reflected with joy, that this conduct, as unreasonable 
as it seemed, and as mortifying as it was, was quite 
necessary for me; for had I been applauded here as I 
was at my father’s, I should have grown intolerably 
proud. I had a fault common to most of our sex,—I 
could not hear a beautiful woman praised, without 
finding fault in her; artfully causing it to be remarked, 
to lessen the good which was said of her. This fault of 
mine continued long, and was the fruit of gross and 
malignant pride. Extravagantly extolling anyone pro¬ 
ceeds from a like source. 

Just before the birth of my first child, they were 
induced to take great care of me, and my crosses were 
thereby somewhat mitigated. Indeed, I was so ill 
that it was enough to excite the compassion of the 


48 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


most indifferent. Besides this, they had so great a 
desire of having children to inherit their fortunes, that 
they were continually afraid lest I should any way 
hurt myself. Yet, when the time of my delivery drew 
near, this care and tenderness of me abated; and once, 
as my mother-in-law had treated me in a very grating 
manner, I had the malice to feign a cholic, to give 
them in my turn some alarm; but as I saw this little 
artifice gave them too much pain, I told them I was 
better. No creature could be more heavily laden with 
sickness than I was during this period. Beside con¬ 
tinual heavings, I had so strange a distaste, except 
for some fruit, that I could not bear the sight of food 
I had likewise continual swoonings and violent pains. 
After my delivery I continued weak a long time. 
There was indeed sufficient to exercise patience, and I 
was enabled to offer up my sufferings to our Lord. I 
took a fever, which rendered me so weak, that after 
several weeks I could scarcely bear to be moved, to 
have my bed made. When I began to recover, an 
imposthume fell upon my breast, which was forced to 
be laid open in two places, which gave me great pain. 
Yet all these maladies seemed to me only a shadow of 
troubles, in comparison of those I suffered in the fam¬ 
ily; which far from diminishing, daily increased. I 
was also subject to a very violent headache. Indeed, 
life was so wearisome to me, that those maladies which 
were thought mortal did not frighten me. 

The event mentioned improved my appearance, 
and consequently served to increase my vanity. I was 
glad to call forth expressions of regard; and, far from 
avoiding the occasions thereof, I went to the public 
promenades, (though but seldom;) and when in the 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYOX. 


49 


streets, I pulled off my mask out of vanity, and drew 
off my gloves to show my hands. Could there be 
greater folly? After falling into these weaknesses, I 
used to weep bitterly at home; yet when occasion 
offered, I fell into them again. 

There happened in the family a matter of great 
importance, in regard to our temporal affairs. My 
husband lost considerably. This cost me strange 
crosses for above a year; not that I cared for the losses, 
but 1 seemed to be the butt of all the ill-humors of 
the family. It would require a volume to describe all 
that I suffered during this time. With what pleas¬ 
ure did I sacrifice these temporal blessings; and how 
often felt willing to have even begged my bread, if God 
had so ordered it. But my mother-in-law was incon¬ 
solable. She bid me pray to God for these things; but 
to me that was wholly impossible. O my dearest Lord, 
never could I pray to thee about the world, or the 
things thereof; nor sully my sacred addresses to thy 
Majesty with the dirt of the earth. No; I rather wish 
to renounce it all, and everything beside whatsoever, 
for the sake of thy love, and the enjoyment of thy 
presence in that kingdom which is not of this world. 
I wholly sacrificed myself to thee, even earnestly beg¬ 
ging thee rather to reduce our family to beggary, than 
suffer it to offend thee. In my ovn mind I excused 
my mother-in-law, saying to myself, “If I had taken 
the pains to scrape and save like her, I would not be 
so indifferent at seeing so much lost. I enjoy what cost 
me nothing, and reap what I have not sowed.” Yet 
all these thoughts could not make me sensible to our 
losses. I even formed agreeable ideas of our going to 
the hospital. No state appeared to me so poor and 


60 


THE LIFE OP MADAME GUYON. 


miserable, which I should not have thought easy, in 
comparison of the continual domestic persecutions I 
underwent; but my father, who loved me tenderly, and 
whom I honored beyond expression, knew nothing of 
it. God so permitted it, that I should have him also 
displeased with me for some time; for my mother was 
continually telling him that I was an ungrateful crea¬ 
ture, showing no regard for them, but all for my 
husband’s family. Appearances were against me; for 
I did not go to see them near as often as I should 
have done. But they knew not the captivity I was in; 
and what I was obliged to bear in defending them. 
These complaints of my mother, and a trivial affair 
that fell out, lessened a little my father’s fond regard 
for me; but it did not hold long. My mother-in-law 
reproached me, saying, “No afflictions befell them till 
I came into the house. All misfortunes came along 
with me.” On the other side my mother wanted me 
to exclaim against my husband, which I could never 
submit to do. 

We continued to meet with loss after loss, the King 
retrenching a considerable share of our revenues, 
besides great sums of money, which we lost by L’Hotel 
de Ville. I could have no rest or peace, in the midst 
of such great afflictions. I had no mortal either to 
console me, or to advise with me. My sister, who had 
educated me, had departed this life. She died two 
months before my marriage; and I had no other for a 
confidant. 

I declare, that I find much repugnance in saying so 
many things of my mother-in-law, and yet more in 
what I mention of my husband, as I have no doubt 
but my own indiscretion, my caprice, and the occasional 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


51 


sallies of a warm temper, drew many of the crosses 
upon me. And, although I had what the world calls 
patience, yet I had neither a relish nor love for the 
cross, and hence I fell into so many faults. Their con¬ 
duct towards me, which appeared so unreasonable, 
should not be looked upon with worldly eyes; we 
should look higher, and then we shall perceive, that it 
was directed by Providence for my eternal advantage. 
Indeed, I would yield to the repugnance I feel to speak 
of them, and be totally silent with regard to their 
treatment of me, were it not for the injunction you 
have laid upon me as my spiritual director, to relate 
everything. 

I now dressed my hair in the most modest manner, 
never painted, and to subdue the vanity which still had 
possession of me, I rarely looked in the glass. My 
reading was confined to books of devotion, such as 
Thomas a’Kempis, and the works of St. Francis de 
Sales. I read these aloud for the improvement of the 
servants, whilst the maid was dressing my hair; and I 
suffered myself to be dressed just as she pleased, 
which freed me from a great deal of trouble, and took 
away the occasions wherein my vanity used to be exer¬ 
cised. I knew not how things were; but they always 
liked me, and thought all well in point of dress. H on 
some particular days I wanted to appear better, it 
proved worse; and the more indifferent I was about 
dress, the better I appeared. How often have I gone 
to Church, not so much to worship God as to be seen. 
Other women, jealous of me, affirmed that I painted; 
and told my confessor, who chided me for it, though J 
assured him I was innocent. I often spoke in my own 
praise, and sought to raise myself by depreciating 


LIFE OF MADAME GUYOlt. 


others. Yet these faults gradually decreased; for I 
was very sorry afterwards for having committed them. 
I often examined myself very strictly, writing down 
my faults from week to week, and from month to 
month, to see how much I was improved or reformed. 
But, alas! this labor, though fatiguing, was of but 
little service, because I trusted in my own efforts. I 
wished indeed to be reformed, but my good desires 
were weak and languid. 

At one time my husband’s absence was so long, 
and in the meantime my crosses and vexations at home 
so great, that I determined to go to him. My mother- 
in-law strongly opposed it; but this once my father 
interfering, and insisting on it, she let me go. On my 
arrival I found he had liked to have died. Through 
vexation and fretting he was very much changed; for 
he could not finish his affairs, having no liberty in 
attending to them, keeping himself concealed at the 
Hotel de Longueville, where Madame de Longueville 
was extremely kind to me. But as I came publicly, he 
was in great fear lest I should make him known. In a 
rage he bid me return home; but love, and my long 
absence from him, surmounting every other reason, he 
soon relented, and suffered me to stay with him. He 
kept me eight days, without letting me stir out of his 
chamber; till, fearing the effects of such a close con¬ 
finement on my constitution, he desired me to go and 
take a walk in the garden, where I met Madame de 
Longueville, who testified great joy on seeing me. 

I cannot express all the kindness I met with in thi3 
house. All the domestics here served me with emula¬ 
tion, and applauded me on account of my appearance, 
and exterior deportment. Yet I was much on my 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


53 


guard, against paying too mucli attention thereto. I 
never entered into discourse with, any man when alone. 
I admitted none into my coach, not even my relations, 
unless my husband were in it. Nor did I go into any 
man’s coach. In short, there was not any rule of dis¬ 
cretion which I did not duly observe, to avoid giving 
any suspicion to my husband, or subject of calumny to 
others. So much attention had I to a vain point of 
honor, and so little for the true honor, which is to 
please God. Everyone studied there how to contribute 
to divert or oblige me. Outwardly everything appeared 
agreeable, but chagrin had so overcome and ruffled my 
husband, that I had continually something to bear. 
Sometimes he threatened to throw the supper out of 
the windows; but I said to him, “he would then do 
me an injury, as I had a keen appetite.” I made him 
laugh, and laughed with him. This appeased him; 
and the manner in which I spoke diverted him. Be¬ 
fore that, melancholly prevailed over all my endeavors, 
and over the love he had for me. But God both armed 
me with patience, and gave me the grace to return 
him no answer; so that the devil, who attempted to 
draw me into some offence, was forced to retire in con¬ 
fusion, through the signal assistance of that grace. 

I fell into a languishing state; I loved my God and 
was unwilling to displease him, and I was inwardly 
grieved on account of that vanity, which still I found 
myself unable to eradicate. These inward distresses, 
together with those oppressive crosses, which I had 
daily to encounter, at length threw me into sickness; 
and as I was unwilling to incommode the Hotel de 
Longueville, I had myself moved to another house. 
The disease proved violent and tedious, insomuch that 


54 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


the physicians despaired of my life. The priest, who 
was a pious man, seemed fully satisfied with the state 
of my mind, and said, “I should die like a saint.” But 
my sins were too present to my mind, and too painful 
to my heart, to have such a presumption. At mid¬ 
night they administered the sacrament to me, as they 
hourly expected my departure. It was a scene of gen¬ 
eral distress in the family, and among all that knew 
me. There were none indifferent to my death but 
myself. I beheld it without fear, and was rendered 
insensible to its approach. It was far otherwise with 
my husband. He was inconsolable, and in an agony 
of grief, when he saw there was no hope left; but I no 
sooner began to recover, than notwithstanding all his 
love, his usual fretfulness returned. I now recovered 
almost miraculously; and to me this disorder proved a 
great blessing; for beside a very great patience under 
violent pains, it served to instruct me much in my view 
of the emptiness of all worldly things; it detached me 
from myself and gave me new courage to suffer better 
than I had yet done. The love of God gathered 
strength in my heart, with a desire to please and be 
faithful to him in my condition. I reaped several 
other advantages from it which I need not relate, I 
had yet six months to drag along with a slow fever. It 
was thought that it would terminate in death. But 
thy time, O my God, had not yet arrived for taking me 
to thyself. Thy designs over me were widely different 
from the expectations of those about me; it being thy 
determination to make me both the object of thy 
mercy and the victim of thy justice. 


THE LIFE OF MADAMTC GUYON 


65 


CHAPTER Vm* 

After long lanquishing, at length I regained my 
former health; about which time my dear mother 
departed this life in great tranquility of mind; having, 
beside her other good qualities, been particularly char¬ 
itable to the poor. This virtue, so acceptable to God, 
he was graciously pleased to commence rewarding 
even in this life, with such a spirit of resignation, that 
though she was but twenty-four hours sick, she was 
made perfectly easy about everything that was near 
and dear to her in this world.—I now applied myself 
to my duties, never fading to practice that of prayer 
twice a day. I watched over myself, to subdue my 
spirit continually. I went to visit the poor in their 
houses, assisting them in their distempers and dis¬ 
tresses; and did (according to my understanding) all 
the good I knew. Thou, O my God, increased both 
my love and my patience, in proportion to my suffer¬ 
ings. I regretted not the temporal advantages with 
which my mother distinguished my brother above me; 
yet at home they fell on me about that, as about every¬ 
thing else. I also had for some time a severe ague, 
and was very feeble. I did not indeed serve thee yet 
with that fervor which thou wast pleased to give me 
soon after. For I would still have been glad to recon¬ 
cile thy love with the love of myself and of the crea¬ 
ture; and unhappily I always found some who loved 
me, and whom I could not forbear wishing to please; 


56 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


not that I loved them, but for the love that I bore to 
myself. 

A lady, who was an exile, came to my father’s 
house. He offered her an apartment in it which she 
accepted, and staid there a long time. She was one ot 
true piety and inward devotion. She had a great 
esteem for me, because I desired to love God, and 
employed myself in the exterior works of charity. She 
remarked that I had the virtues of an active and bust¬ 
ling life; but had not yet attained the simplicity of 
prayer which she experienced, Sometimes she dropped 
a word to me on that subject; but as my time had not 
yet come, I did not understand her. Her example 
instructed me more than her words. I observed on 
her countenance something which marked a great 
enjoyment of the presence of God. This I tried, by 
the exertion of studied reflection and thoughts, to 
attain, but with much trouble and to little purpose. I 
wanted to have by my own efforts what I could not 
acquire but in ceasing from all efforts. 

My father’s nephew, of whom I have made mention 
before, was returned from Cochin China, to carry over 
some priests from Europe. I was exceedingly glad tc 
see him, well remembering what good his first passing 
by had done me. The lady above mentioned was nc 
less rejoiced than I; they understood each other imme¬ 
diately and conversed together in a spiritual language. 
The virtue of this excellent relation charmed me; and 
I admired his continual prayer without being able to 
comprehend it. I endeavored to meditate, and to 
think on God without intermission, to utter prayers 
and ejaculations, but could not acquire, by all my toil, 
what God at length gave me himself, and which is 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


57 


experienced only in simplicity. My cousin did all he 
could to attach me more strongly to God. He con¬ 
ceived an exceedingly great affection for me. The 
purity he observed in me from the corruptions of the 
age, the abhorrence of sin at a time of life when others 
are beginning to relish the pleasures of it, (for I was 
not yet eighteen), gave him a great tenderness for me. 
I complained to him of my faults ingenuously; for 
these I saw clearly; but as the difficulties I found, of 
entirely reforming myself, much abated my courage, 
he cheered and exhorted me to support myself, and to 
persevere in my good endeavors for it. He would fain 
have introduced me into a more simple manner of 
prayer, but I was not yet prepared for it. 

I believe his prayers were more effectual than his 
words; for no sooner was he gone out of my father’s 
house, than thou, O my Divine Love, manifested thy 
favor to me. The desire I had to please thee, the 
tears I shed, the manifold pains I underwent, the 
labors I sustained, and the little fruit I reaped from 
them, moved thee with compassion. Such was the 
state of my soul, when thy goodness, surpassing all 
my vileness and infidelities, and abounding in propor¬ 
tion to my wretchedness, now granted me in a moment, 
what all my own efforts could never procure. For, 
beholding me rowing with such laborious toil, the 
breath of thy divine operations turned in my favor, 
and carried me full sail over this sea of affliction. 

I had often spoken to my confessor about the great 
anxiety it gave me to find I could not meditate, nor 
exert my imagination in order to pray. Subjects of 
prayer which were too extensive were useless to me; 
such as were short and pithy suited me better; but my 



68 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


confessor, I found, did not comprehend the matter, or 
understand my meaning. 

At length, God permitted a very religious person, of 
the order of St. Francis, to pass by my father’s habita¬ 
tion. He had intended going another way, that was 
shorter and more commodious: but a secret power 
changed his design. He saw there was something for 
him to do, and imagined that God had called him for 
the conversion of a man of some distinction in that 
country; but his labors there proved fruitless. It was 
the conquest of my soul which was designed. As soon 
as he arrived in our country, he came to see my father, 
who was rejoiced at his coming. At this time I was 
about to be delivered of my second son, and my father 
was dangerously ill, and was expected to die. For 
some time they concealed his sickness from me, on 
account of my condition; till an indiscreet person 
abruptly told me. Instantly I arose, all weak as I was, 
and went to see him at the hazard of my life; and a 
dangerous illness it cost me. My father was recovered, 
but not entirely; yet enough to give me new marks of 
his affection. I told him of the strong desire I had to 
love God, and my great sorrow at not being able to do 
it fully. As he had a great fondness for me, he thought 
he could not give me a more solid indication thereof, 
than in procuring me an acquaintance with this worthy 
man. He told me what he knew of him, and urged me 
to go and see him. 

I made at first a difficulty of doing it, being intent 
on observing the rules of the strictest prudence. How¬ 
ever, my father’s repeated requests had with me the 
weight of a positive command. I thought I could not 
do that amiss, which I only did in obedience to him. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUTON. 


59 


I therefore took a kinswoman along with me, and went. 
At first he seemed a little confused; for he was reserved 
towards women. Being newly come out of a five years’ 
solitude, he was surprised that I was the first to address 
him. He spoke not a word for some time. I knew 
not what to attribute his silence to. I did not hesitate 
to speak to him, and to tell him in a few words, my 
difficulties about prayer. He presently replied, “ It is, 
madame, because you seek without what you have 
within. Accustom yourself to seek God in your heart,j 
and you will there find him.” 

Having said these words, he left me. They were to 
me like the stroke of a dart, which penetrated through 
my heart. I felt at this instant a very deep wound, a 
wound so delightful that I desired not to be cured. 
These words brought into my heart what I had been 
seeking so many years; or rather they discovered to me 
what was there, and which I had not enjoyed for want 
of knowing it. O my Lord, thou wast in my heart, and 
demanded only a simple turning of my mind inward, 
to make me perceive thy presence. Oh, Infinite Good¬ 
ness ! how was I running hither and thither to seek 
thee, my life was a burden to me, although my happi¬ 
ness was within myself. I was poor in the midst of 
riches, and ready to perish with hunger, near a table 
plentifully spread, and a continual feast. O Beauty, 
ancient and new; why have I known thee so late? 
Alas! I sought thee where thou wast not, and did 
not seek thee where thou wast. It was for want of 
understanding these words of thy Gospel, “The king¬ 
dom of God cometh not with observation: neither shall 
they say, Lo here, or lo there: For behold, the king¬ 
dom of God is within you.” This I now experienced. 


60 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GTTTON. 


for thou becamest my King, and my heart thy kingdom* 
wherein thou didst reign supreme, and performed all 
thy sacred will. 

I told this good man, “that I did not know what 
he had done to me, that my heart was quite changed, 
that God was there; for from that moment he had 
given me an experience of his presence in my soul; not 
by thought or any application of mind, but as a thing 
really possessed after the sweetest manner.” I experi¬ 
enced these words in the Canticles: “Thy name is as 
precious ointment poured forth; therefore do the vir¬ 
gins love thee.” For I felt in my soul an unction 
which, as a salutary balsam, healed in a moment all 
my wounds. I slept not that whole night, because thy 
love, O my God, flowed in me like a delicious oil, and 
burned as a fire which was going to devour in an 
instant all that was left of self. I was suddenly so 
altered that I was hardly to be known either by myself 
or others. I found no longer those troublesome faults 
or reluctances. They all disappeared, being consumed 
like chaff in a great fire. 

I now became desirous that the instrument hereof 
might become my director, preferable to any other. 
This good father, however, could not readily resolve to 
charge himself with my conduct, though he saw so sur¬ 
prising a change effected by the hand of God. Several 
reasons induced him to excuse himself; first my per¬ 
son, then my youth, for I was only nineteen years of 
age; and lastly, a promise he had made to God, from 
a distrust of himself, never to take upon himself the 
direction of any of our sex, unless God, by some par¬ 
ticular providence, should charge him therewith. 
However, upon my earnest and repeated request to 


THE LIFE OF MADAMF. GUYON. 


61 


him to become my director, be said be would pray to 
God thereupon, and desired that I should do so, too* 
As he was at prayer, it was said to him, “Fear not 
that charge; she is my spouse.” When I heard this, it 
affected me greatly. “What (said I to myself) a 
frightful monster of iniquity, who has done so much to 
offend my God, in abusing his favors, and requiting 
them with ingratitude; and now to be declared his 
spouse! ” After this he consented to my request. 

Nothing now was more easy to me than prayer. 
Hours passed away like moments, while I could hardly 
do anything else but pray. The fervency of my love 
allowed me no intermission. It was a prayer of rejoic¬ 
ing and possessing, devoid of all busy imaginations 
and forced reflections; it was a prayer of the will, and 
not of the head, wherein the taste of God was so great, 
so pure, unblended and uninterrupted, that it drew 
and absorbed the power of my soul into a profound 
recollection without act or discourse. For I had now 
no sight but of Jesus Christ alone. All else was 
excluded, in order to love with the greater extent, with¬ 
out any selfish motives or reasons for loving. 

This sovereign power, the will, absorbed the two 
others, the memory and understanding into itself, and 
concentrated them in love; —not but that they still 
subsisted, but their operations were in a manner imper¬ 
ceptible and passive; for they were no longer stopped 
or retarded by the multiplicity, but collected and united 
in one. So the rising of the sun does not extinguish 
the stars, but overpowers and absorbs them in the 
lustre of his incomparable glory. 


62 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


CHAPTER IX. 

Such was the prayer that was given me at once, 
which is far above ecstacies, transports or visions. AH 
these gifts are less pure, and more subject to illusion 
or deceits from the enemy. 

Visions are in the inferior powers of the soul, and 
cannot produce true union,—therefore, the soul must 
not dwell or rely upon them, or be retarded by them; 
they are but favors and gifts,—’tis the Giver alone 
must be our object and aim. 

It is of such that St. Paul speaks, when he says, 
that “ Satan transforms himself into an angel of light/' 
2 Cor. xi. 18; which is generally the case with such as 
are fond of visions, and lay a stress on them; because 
they are apt to convey a vanity to the soul, or at least 
hinder it from humbly attending to God only. 

Ecstacies arise from a sensible relish, and may be 
termed a kind of spiritual sensuality, wherein the soul 
letting itself go too far, by reason of the sweetness it 
finds in them, falls imperceptibly into decay. The 
crafty enemy presents such sort of interior elevations 
and raptures, for baits to entrap the soul; to render it 
sensual, to fill it with vanity and self-love, to fix its 
esteem and attention on the gifts of God, and to hinder 
it from following Jesus Christ in the way of renuncia¬ 
tion, and of death to all things. 

And as to distinct interior words, they too are 
subject to illusion; the enemy can form and counter- 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


63 


feit them. Or if they come from a good angel, (for 
God himself never speaks thus), we may mistake and 
misapprehend them; for they are spoken in a divine 
manner, but we construe them in a human and carnal 
manner. 

But the immediate word of God has neither tone 
nor articulation. It is mute, silent, and unutterable; 
for it is Jesus Christ himself, the real and essential 
Word—who in the centre of the soul, that is disposed 
for receiving him, never one moment ceases from his 
living, fruitful, and divine operation. 

Oh, thou Word made flesh, whose silence is inex¬ 
pressible eloquence, thou canst never be misappre¬ 
hended or mistaken. Thou becomest the life of our 
life, and the soul of our soul. How infinitely is thy 
language elevated above all the utterances of human 
and finite articulation. Thy adorable power, all effica¬ 
cious in the soul that has received it, communicates 
itself through them to others, and as a divine seed 
becomes fruitful to eternal life. 

The revelations of things to come are also very 
dangerous; for the devil can counterfeit them, as he 
did formerly in the heathen temples, where he uttered 
oracles. Frequently they raise false ideas, vain hopes, 
and frivolous expectations; take up the mind with 
future events, hinder it from dying to self, and prevent 
it following Jesus Christ in his poverty, abnegation, 
and death. 

^ Widely different is the revelation of Jesus Christ, 
made to the soul when the eternal Word is communi¬ 
cated—GaL 1 :16. It makes us new creatures, created 
anew in him. This revelation is what the devil cannot 
counterfeit. From hence proceeds the only safe trans- 


64 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON 


port or ecstacy, which is operated by naked faith alone, 
and dying even to the gifts of God, how sublime and 
excellent soever they may appear; because as long as 
the soul continues resting in them, it does not fully 
renounce itself; and so never passing into God, loses 
the real enjoyment of the Giver, by attachments to the 
gifts. This is truly an unutterable loss. 

Lest I should let my mind go after these gifts, and 
steal myself from thy love, O my God, thou wast 
pleased to fix me in a continual adherence to thyself 
alone. Souls thus directed get the shortest way. They 
are to expect great sufferings, especially if they are 
mighty in faith, in mortification and deadness to all 
but God. A pure and disinterested love, and intense¬ 
ness of mind for the advancement of thy interest alone; 
—these are the dispositions thou didst then implant in 
me, and even a fervent desire of suffering for thee. 
The cross, which I had hitherto borne only with 
resignation, was now become my delight, and the 
special object of my rejoicing. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


65 


CHAPTER X. 

I wrote an account of my wonderful change, in 
point of happiness, to that good father who had been 
made the instrument of it. It filled him both with joy 
and astonishment O my God, what penances did the 
love of suffering induce me to undergo! I was im¬ 
pelled to deprive myself of the most innocent indulg¬ 
ences; all that could gratify my taste was denied it, 
and I took everything that could mortify and disgust 
it, insomuch that my appetite, which had been 
extremely delicate, was so far conquered, that at length 
I could scarcely prefer one thing to another. 

I dressed loathsome sores and wounds, and gave 
remedies to the sick. When I first engaged in this 
sort of employment, it was with the greatest difficulty 
I was able to bear it. But as soon as my aversion 
ceased, and I could stand the most offensive things, 
other channels of employment were opened to me. 
For I did nothing of myself, but left myself to be 
wholly governed by my Sovereign in all things. 

When that good father asked me how I loved God, 
I answered, “Far more than the most passionate 
lover his beloved; and that even this comparison was 
inadequate, since the love of the creature never can 
attain to this, either in strength or in depth.” This 
love of God occupied my heart so constantly and so 
strongly, that I could think of nothing else, as indeed 
I judged nothing else worthy of my thoughts. 


66 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GTJYON. 


The good father above mentioned was an excellent 
preacher. He was desired to preach in the parish to 
which I belonged. When I came, I was so strongly 
absorbed in God, that I could neither open my eyes, 
nor hear anything he said. I found that thy Word, 
O my God, made its own impression on my heart, and 
there had its effect, without the mediation of words, 
or any attention to them. And I have found it so ever 
since, but after a different ma n ner, according to the 
different degrees and states I have passed through. 
So deeply was I settled in the inward spirit of prayer, 
that I could scarce any more pronounce the vocal 
prayers. 

This immersion in God absorbed all things therein. 
I could no more see the saints, or even the Blessed 
Virgin, out of God; but I beheld them all in him. 
And although I tenderly loved certain saints, as St. 
Peter, St. Paul, St. Mary Magdalene, St. Teresa, yet I 
could not form to myself images of them, nor invoke 
any of them out of God. 

A few weeks after I had received that interior 
wound of the heart, which had begun my change, the 
feast of the Blessed Virgin was held, in the convent in 
which was that good father my director. I went in 
the morning to get the indulgences, which were then 
dispensed, and was much surprised when I came there 
and found that I could not attempt it; though I stayed 
above five hours in the Church. I was penetrated with 
so lively a dart of pure love, that I could not resolve to 
abridge by indulgences the pains due to my sins. “O, 
my Love,” I cried, “I am willing to suffer for thee. I 
find no other pleasure but in suffering for thee. Indul¬ 
gences may be good for those who know not the value 


THE LIFE OF MADATVTE GUYON. 


67 


of sufferings, who choose not that thy divine justice 
should be satisfied; who, having mercenary souls, are 
not so much afraid of displeasing thee, as of the pains 
annexed to sin.” Yet, fearing I might be mistaken, 
and commit a fault in not getting the indulgences, for 
I had never heard of any one being in such a way 
before, I returned again to try to get them, but in 
vain; so not knowing what to do, I resigned myself 
herein to our Lord; and, when I returned home, I 
wrote to the good father an account of my disposition 
and sentiments, in such a manner, that, preaching that 
day, he made what I had written a part of his sermon, 
reciting it verbatum as I had written it. 

I now quitted all company, bade farewell forever to 
$11 plays and diversions, dancing, unprofitable walks 
and parties of pleasure. For two years I had left off 
dressing my hair,—it became me, and my husband 
approved it. My only pleasure now was to steal some 
moments L o be alone with thee, O thou who art my 
only Love! 411 other pleasure was a pain to me. J 
lost not thy presence, which was given me by a con¬ 
tinual infusion, net as I had imagined, by the efforts of 
the head, or by force of thought in meditating on God, 
but in the will, where i tasted with unutterable sweet¬ 
ness the enjoyment of the beloved object; yet not as I 
came to do afterwards, by an essential union, but by a 
real union in the will, which brought me to discern, in 
a happy experience, that the soul was created to enjoy 
its God. 

The union of the will subjects the soul to God. 
conforms it to all his pleasure, causes self-will gradually 
to die, and lastly drawing with it the other powers, by 
means of the charity with which it is filled, it causes 


68 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


them gradually to be reunited in the Center, and lost 
therein, as to their own nature and operations. 

This loss is called the annihilation of the powers, 
for although in themselves they still subsist, yet they 
seem annihilated to us, in proportion as charity fills 
and inflames, it becomes so strong, as by degrees to 
surmount all the activities of the will of man, subject¬ 
ing it to that of God, in such sort that when the soul 
is docAe, and leaves itself to be purified, and emptied 
of all that which it has of its own, opposite to the will 
of God, it finds itself by little and little, detached from 
every emotion of its own, and placed in a holy in¬ 
difference, wishing nothing but what God does and 
wills. But this never can be effected by the activity of 
our own will, even though it were employed in con¬ 
tinual acts of resignation; because these, though very 
virtuous, are so far one’s own actions, and cause 
the will to subsist in a multiplicity, in a kind of separ¬ 
ate distinction or dissimilitude from God. 

When the will of the creature entirely submits to 
that of the Creator, suffering freely and voluntarily— 
and yielding only a concurrence to the divine will 
(which is its absolute submission)—suffering itself to 
be totally surmounted and destroyed, by the operations 
of love; this absorbs the will into itself, consummates it 
in that of God, and purifies it from all narrowness, dis¬ 
similitude, and selfishness. 

The case is the same with the other two powers, 
whereunto, by means of charity, the two other theolog¬ 
ical virtues, faith and hope, are introduced. Faith so 
strongly siezes on the understanding, as to make it 
decline all reasonings, all particular illuminations and 
illustrations, how sublime soever; which sufficiently 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


69 


demonstrates how far visions, revelations, ecstacies, &c., 
difter from this, and hinder the soul from being lost in 
God. For although by them it appears lost in him for 
some transient moments, yet it is not a true loss, since 
the soul which is entirely lost in God finds itself again 
no more. Faith then makes the soul lose every dis¬ 
tinct light, in order to place it in its own pure light. 

The memory, too, finds all its little activities sur¬ 
mounted by degrees, and absorbed in hope, and 
finally the powers are all concentrated and lost in pure 
love, which engulphs them into itself by means of their 
sovereign, the Will; for the will is the sovereign of 
the powers, as charity is the queen of the virtues, and 
unites them all in herself. 

This reunion which is thus made, is called, the cen¬ 
tral union or unity—because that by means of the will 
and love, all are reunited in the centre of the soul in 
God, our ultimate end. According to St. John,—“ He 
who dwelleth in love, dwelleth in God, for God is 
love.” 

This union of my will to thine, O my God, and this 
ineffable presence was so sweet and powerful, that I 
was compelled to yield to its delightful power,-—which 
was strict and severe to my minutest faults. 


70 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


CHAPTER XI 

My senses (as I have described) were continually 
mortified, and under perpetual restraint. For it 
should be well noted, that to conquer them totally, it 
is necessary to deny them the smallest relaxation, until 
the victory is completed. We see those who content 
themselves in practicing great outward austerities, and 
yet by indulging their senses in what is called innocent 
and necessary, they remain forever unsubdued; so 
that austerities, however severe, will not conquer the 
senses. To destroy their power, the most effectual 
means is, in general, to deny them firmly what will 
please, and to persevere in this, until they are reduced 
to be without desire or repugnance. But if we 
attempt, during the warfare, to grant them any relaxa¬ 
tion, we act like those, who, under pretext of strength¬ 
ening a man, who was condemned to be starved to 
death, should give him from time to time a little nour¬ 
ishment, which indeed would prolong his torments, 
and postpone his death. 

It is just the same with the death of the senses, the 
powers, the understanding, and self-will; for if we do 
not eradicate eveiy remains of self subsisting in these, 
we support them in a dying life to the end. This state 
and its termination are clearly set forth by St. Paul. 
He speaks of bearing about in the body the dying of 
the Lord Jesus. (2 Cor. iv. 10.) But, lest we should 
rest here, he fully distinguishes this from the state of 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


71 


being dead, and having our life hid with Christ in 
God. It is only by a total death to self we can be lost 
in God. 

He who is thus dead has no further need of morti¬ 
fication; for the very end of mortification is accom¬ 
plished in him, and all is become new. It is an 
unhappy error in those good souls, who have arrived 
at a conquest of the bodily senses, through this unre¬ 
mitted and continual mortification, that they should 
still continue attached to the exercise of it; they should 
rather drop their attention thereto, and remain in 
indifference, accepting with equality the good as the 
bad, the sweet as the bitter, and bend their whole 
attention to a labor of greater importance; namely, 
the mortification of the mind and self-will, beginning 
by dropping all the activity of self, which can never be 
done without the most profound prayer; no more than 
the death of the senses can be perfected without pro¬ 
found recollection joined to mortification; and indeed 
recollection is the chief means whereby we attain to a 
conquest of the senses, as it detaches and separates us 
from them, and sweetly saps the very cause from 
whence they derive their influence over us. 

The more thou didst augment my love, and my 
patience, O my Lord, the less respite had I from the 
most oppressive crosses; but love rendered them easy 
to bear. O ye poor souls, who exhaust yourselves with 
needless vexation, if you would but seek God in your 
hearts, there would be a speedy end to all your 
troubles; for the increase of crosses would proportion¬ 
ately increase your delight. 

Love, at the beginning, athirst for mortification 
impelled me to seek and invent various kinds, and it is 


72 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUTON. 


surprising, that as soon as the bitterness of any new 
mode of mortification was exhausted, another kind was 
pointed to me, and I was inwardly led to pursue it. 
Divine love so enlightened my heart, and so scrutinized 
into its secret springs, that the smallest defects became 
exposed. If I was about to speak, something wrong 
was instantly pointed to me, and I was compelled to 
silence; if I kept silence, faults herein were presently 
discovered,—in every action there was something 
defective—in my mortifications, my penances, my 
alms-giving, my retirement, I was faulty. When I 
walked, I observed there was something wrong; if I 
spoke any way in my own favor, I saw pride. If I 
said within myself, alas, I will speak no more, here 
was self. If I was cheerful and open, I was condemned. 
This pure love always found matter for reproof in me, 
and was jealous that nothing should escape unnoticed. 
It was not that I was particularly attentive over myself, 
for it was even with constraint that I could look at all at 
myself; as my attention towards God, by an attach¬ 
ment of my will to his, was without intermission, I 
waited continually upon him, and he watched inces¬ 
santly over me, and he so led me by his providence, 
that I forgot all things. I knew not how to communi¬ 
cate what I felt to anyone. I was so lost to myself, 
that I could scarcely go about self-examination; when 
I attempted it all ideas of myself immediately disap¬ 
peared, and I found myself occupied with my one 
object, without distinction of ideas. I was absorbed in 
peace inexpressible; I saw by the eye of faith that it 
was God that thus wholly possessed me; but I did not 
reason at all about it. 

It must not, however, be supposed that Divine Love 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


73 


suffered my faults to go unpunished. O Lord! with 
what rigor, dost thou punish the most faithful, the 
most loving and beloved of thy children. I mean not 
externally, for this would be inadequate to the smallest 
fault, in a soul that God is about to purify radically; 
and the punishments it can inflict on itself, are rather 
gratifications aad refreshments than otherwise. Indeed, 
the manner in which he corrects his chosen, must be 
felt, or it is impossible to conceive how dreadful it is, 
and in my attempt to explain it, I shall be unintelligi¬ 
ble, except to experienced souls. It is an internal 
burning, a secret fire, sent from God to purge away the 
fault, giving extreme pain, until this purification is 
effected. It is like a dislocated joint, which is in inces¬ 
sant torment, until the bone is replaced. This pain is 
so severe, that the soul would do anything to satisfy 
God for the fault, and would rather be tom in pieces 
than endure the torment. Sometimes she flies to oth¬ 
ers, and opens her state that she may find consolation, 
but thereby she frustrates God’s designs towards her. 
It is of the utmost consequence to know what use to 
make of the distress, as the whole of one’s spiritual 
advancement depends thereon. We should at these 
seasons of internal anguish, obscurity and mourning, 
co-operate with God, and endure this consuming tor¬ 
ture in its utmost extent (whilst it continues) without 
attempting to lessen or increase it; but bear it pas¬ 
sively, nor seek to satisfy God by anything we can do 
of ourselves. To continue passive at such a time is 
extremely difficult, and requires great firmness and 
courage. I knew some, who being defective herein, 
never advanced farther in the spiritual process, because 
they grew impatient,and sought means of consolation. 


74 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


CHAPTER XU 

The treatment of my husband and mother-in-law, 
however rigorous and insulting, I now bore silently— 
and made them no replies; and this was not so difficult 
for me, for the greatness of my interior occupation, 
and what passed within, rendered me insensible to all 
the rest; yet there were times when I was left to my¬ 
self. And then I could not refrain from tears, when 
they fell violently on me. I did the lowest offices for 
them, to humble myself. Yet all this did not win their 
favor. When they were in a rage, although I could 
not find that I had given them any occasion for it; yet 
I did not fail to beg their pardon, and even from the 
girl I have spoken of. I had a good deal of pain to 
surmount myself, as to the last; because she became 
the more insolent for it; reproaching me with things 
which ought to have made her blush, and to have cov¬ 
ered her with shame. As she saw that I contradicted 
and resisted her no more in anything, she proceeded 
to treat me still worse. And when I asked her pardon 
for the very offences which she had given me, she 
triumphed, saying, “I knew very well I was in the 
right.” Her arrogance rose to that height, that I 
would not have treated the meanest slave, or vassal, as 
she treated me. 

One day, as she was dressing me, she pulled me 
very roughly, and spoke to me very insolently. I said 
to her, “ It is not on my account that I am w inin g to 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


75 


answer you, for you give me no pain, but lest you 
should act thus before persons to whom it would give 
offence. Moreover, as I am your mistress, God is 
assuredly offended therewith.” She left me that mo¬ 
ment, and ran like a mad woman to meet my husband, 
telling him, “ she would stay no longer, I treated her 
so ill, and that I hated her for the care she took, of 
him in his indispositions, which were continual, want¬ 
ing her not to do any service for him.” As my husband 
was very hasty, he took fire at these words. I finished 
the dressing of myself alone, since she had left me, and 
I durst not call another girl; for she would not suffer 
another girl to come near me. All on a sudden, I saw 
my husband coming like a lion, for he was never in 
such a rage as this. I thought he was going to strike 
me; I awaited the blow with tranquility; he threatened 
me with his uplifted crutch; I thought he was going 
to knock me down with it; and holding myself closely 
united to God, I beheld it without pain. However, he 
did not strike me, for he had presence of mind enough 
to see what an indignity it would be; but in his rage 
he threw it at me. It fell near me, but it did not 
touch me; after which he discharged himself in such 
language, as if I had been a street beggar, or the most 
infamous of all' creatures. I kept a profound silence, 
being recollected in the Lord, to suffer for his love all 
these things. 

The girl in the meantime came in. At the sight of 
her his rage redoubled. I kept near to God, as a vic¬ 
tim disposed to suffer whatever he would permit. My 
husband ordered me to beg her pardon, which I readily 
did, and thereby appeased him. I went presently into 
my dear closet, where I no sooner was, than my divine 


76 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


Director impelled me to make this girl a present, to 
recompense her for the cross which she had caused me, 
which I did. She was a little astonished, but her heart 
was too hard to be gained. 

I often acted thus, for she frequently gave me such 
opportunities. She had a singular dexterity in attend¬ 
ing the sick, and my husband ailing almost continually, 
no other person would be suffered to administer to 
him. For this reason he had a very great regard for 
her. Moreover, she was so artful, that in his presence 
she affected an extraordinary respect for me; but when 
he was not present, if I said a word to her, though with 
the greatest mildness; if she heard him coming, she 
cried out with all her might, that she was unhappy; 
and acted like one distressed in such a manner, that, 
without informing himself of the truth, he was irritated 
against me, as was also my mother-in-law. 

The violence I did to my proud and hasty nature 
was so great, that I could hold out no longer. I was 
quite spent with it. It seemed sometimes as if I was 
inwardly rent, and I have often fallen sick with the 
struggle. She did not forbear exclaiming against me, 
even before persons of distinction, who came to see me. 
If I was silent, she took offence at that yet more, and 
said, “ I despised her.” She cried me down, and made 
complaints of me to everybody. But all this redounded 
to my honor and her own disgrace. My reputation 
was so well established, on account of my exterior 
modesty, my devotion, and the great acts of charity 
which I did, that nothing could shake it. 

Sometimes she ran out into the very street, crying 
out against me. At one time she exclaimed, “Am not 
I very unhappy to have such a mistress?” People 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


77 


gathered about her to know what I had done to her; 
and not knowing what to say, she answered, “I had 
not spoken to her all the day.” They returned, laugh¬ 
ing, and said, “ She has done you no great harm then.” 

I am surprised at the blindness of confessors, and 
at their permitting their penitents to conceal so much 
of the truth from them—for the confessor of this girl 
made her pass for a saint. This he said in my hearing. 
I answered nothing; for love would not permit me to 
speak of my troubles; but that I should consecrate 
them all to God by a profound silence. 

My husband was out of humor with my devotion. 
It became insupportable to him. “What,” said he, 
“you love God so much, that you love me no longer.” 
So little did he comprehend that the true conjugal love 
is that which the Lord himself forms in the heart that 
loves him. Oh, thou who art pure and holy, thou didst 
imprint in me from the first such a love of chastity, 
that there was nothing in the world which I would not 
have undergone to possess and preserve it. I endeav¬ 
ored to be agreeable to my husband in anything, and 
\o please him in everything he could require of me. 
God gave me such a purity of soul at that time, that I 
had not so much as a bad thought. Sometimes my 
husband said to me, “ One sees plainly that you never 
lose the presence of God.” 

The world, seeing I quitted it, persecuted and 
turned me into ridicule. I was its entertainment, and 
the subject of its fables. It could not bear that a 
woman, who was scarce twenty years of age, should 
thus make war against it, and overcome. My mother- 
in-law took part with the world, and blamed me for 
not doing many things, that in her heart she would 


78 


THE LIFE OF MAD AMTS GUT ON. 


have been highly offended had I done them. I was as 
one lost, and ail alone; so little communion had I with 
the creature, farther than necessity required. I seemed 
to experience literally those words of St. Paul, “ I live, 
yet, no more I, but Christ liveth in me;” for he was 
become the soul of my soul, and the life of my life. 
His operations were so powerful, so sweet, and so 
secret, all together, that I could not express them. We 
went into the country on some business. Oh! what 
unutterable communications did I there experience in 
retirement! 

I was insatiable for prayer; I arose at four o’clock 
in the morning to pray. I went very far to the Church, 
which was so situated, that the coach could not come 
to it. There was a steep hill to go down and anothei 
to ascend. All that cost me nothing; I had such a 
longing desire to meet with God, as my only good, 
who on his part was graciously forward to give himself 
to his poor creature, and for it to do even visible mira- 
acles. Such as saw me lead a life so very different 
from the women of the world, said I was a fool. They 
attributed it to stupidity. Sometimes they said, 
“What can all this mean? Some people think thiR 
lady has parts, but nothing of them appears.” For if I 
went into company, often I could not speak; so much 
was I engaged within, so inward with the Lord, as not 
to attend to anything else. If any near me spoke, I 
heard nothing of what they said. I generally took one 
with me, that this might not appear. I took some 
work, to hide under that appearance the real employ 
of my heart. When I was alone, the work dropped 
out of my hands; and I could do nothing else but 
resign myself to be wholly taken up with love. I 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


79 


wanted to persuade a relation of my husband’s to prac¬ 
tice prayer. She thought me a fool, for depriving 
myself of all the amusements of the age. But the 
Lord has since opened her eyes, to make her despise 
them. I could have wished to teach all the world to 
love God; and thought it depended only on them to 
feel what I felt. The Lord made use of my t hinking 
thus, to gain many souls to himself. 

The good father I have spoken of, who was the 
instrument of my conversion, made me acquainted 
with Genevieve Granger, prioress of the Benedictines, 
one of the greatest servants of God of her time. She 
proved of very great service to me, as in the sequel 
will appear. My confessor, who had told everyone 
that I was a saint before, when so full of miseries, and 
so far from the condition to which the Lord in his 
mercy had now brought me, seeing I placed a confi¬ 
dence in the father of whom I have spoken, and that I 
steered in a road which was unknown to him, declared 
openly against me; and the monks of his order perse¬ 
cuted me much. They even preached publicly against 
me, as a person under a delusion. 

My husband and mother-in-law, who till now had 
been indifferent about this confessor, then joined him 
and ordered me to leave off prayer, and the exercise of 
piety; but that I could not do. Even when I was in 
company, the Lord seized my heart more powerfully. 
There was earned on a conversation within me, very 
different from that which passed without. I did what 
I could to hinder it from appearing, but could not. 
The presence of so great a Master manifested itself, 
even on my countenance. And that pained my hus¬ 
band, as he sometimes told me. I did what I could to 



80 


THE LIFE OF MAD AME GUYON. 


hinder it from being noticed, but was not able com¬ 
pletely to hide it. I was so much inwardly occupied 
that I knew not what I eat. I made as if I eat some 
kinds of meat, though I did not take any, and acted so 
dexterously that they did not perceive it. This deep 
inward attention suffered me scarcely to hear or see 
anything. I still continued to use many severe morti¬ 
fications and austerities; yet they did not in the least 
diminish the freshness of my countenance. 

I had often grievous fits of sickness and no consol¬ 
ation in life, but in the practice of prayer, and in see¬ 
ing Mother Granger. How dear did these cost me, 
especially the former! But what do I say, O my Love! 
Is this esteeming the cross as I ought ?—should I not 
rather say that prayer to me was recompensed with 
the cross, and the cross with prayer. Oh, ye insepara¬ 
ble gifts, united in my heart and life! When youi 
eternal light arose in my soul, how perfectly it recon¬ 
ciled me, and made ye the object of my love! From 
the moment I received thee I' have never been free 
from the cross, nor it seems without prayer—though 
for a long time I thought myself deprived thereof, 
which exceedingly augmented my afflictions. 

My confessor at first exerted his efforts to hinder 
me from practicing prayer, and from seeing Mother 
Granger. And he violently stirred up my husband and 
mother-in-law to hinder me from praying. The method 
they took to effect it was, to watch me from morning 
till night. I durst not go out from my mother-in-law’s 
chamber, or from my husband’s bedside. Sometimes 
I carried my work to the window, under a pretence of 
seeing better, in order to relieve myself with some 
moment’s repose; but they came to watch me very 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GTTYON 


81 


closely, to see if I did not pray instead of working. 
When my husband and mother-in-law played at cards, 
if I did but turn towards the fire, they watched to see 
if I continued my work or shut my eyes. If they 
observed I closed them, they would be in a fury against 
me for several hours. But what is most strange, when 
my husband went abroad, having some days of health, 
he would not allow me to pray in his absence. He 
marked my work, and sometimes, after he was just 
gone out, returning immediately, if he found me in my 
closet, he would be in a rage. In vain I said to him, 
‘‘Surely, sir, what matters it what I do when you are 
absent, if I be assiduous in attending you when you are 
present? That would not satisfy him; he insisted 
upon it that I should no more pray in his absence than 
in his presence. 

I believe there is hardly a torment equal to that of 
being ardently drawn to retirement, and not having it 
in one’s power to be retired. But, O my God, the war 
they raised, to hinder me from loving thee, did but 
augment my love; and while they were striving to 
prevent my addresses to thee, thou drewest me into an 
inexpressible silence; and the more they labored to 
separate me from thee, the more closely didst thou 
unite me to thyself. The flame of thy love was kindled, 
and kept up by everything that was done to extin¬ 
guish it. 

Often through compliance I played at piquet with 
my husband, and at such times was even more inte¬ 
riorly attracted than if I had been at Church. I was 
scarce able to contain the fire which burned in my 
soul, which had all the fervor of what men call love, 
but nothing of its impetuosity; for the more ardent, 


82 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


the more peaceable it was. This fire gained strength 
from everything that was done to suppress it. And 
the spirit of prayer was nourished and increased, from 
their contrivances and endeavors to disallow me any 
time for practising it. I loved, without considering a 
motive, or reason for loving; for nothing passed in my 
head, but much in the innermost recesses of my soul. 

I thought not about any recompense, gift, or favor, 
which he could bestow or I receive. The Well-beloved 
was himself the only object which attracted my heart. 

I could not contemplate his attributes. I knew noth¬ 
ing else, but to love and to suffer. Oh, ignorance 
more truly learned than any science of the doctors, 
since it taught me so well Jesus Christ crucified, and 
brought me to be in love with his holy cross. I could 
then have wished to die, in order to be inseparably 
united to him who so powerfully attracted my heart. 
As all this passed in the will, the imagination and the 
understanding being absorbed in it, in an union of 
enjoyment, I knew not what to say, having never read 
or heard of such a state as I experienced. I dreaded 
delusion and feared that all was not right, for before 
this I had known nothing of the operations of God in 
souls. I had only read St. Francis de Sales, Thomas 
a’Kempis, The Spiritual Combat, and the Holy Scrip¬ 
tures. I was quite a stranger to those interior and 
spiritual books wherein such states are described. 

Then all those amusements and pleasures that are 
prized and esteemed, appeared to me dull and insipid, 
so that I wondered how it could be that I had evei 
enjoyed them. And indeed since that time, I could 
never find any satisfaction or enjoyment out of God, 
although I have sometimes been unfaithful enough to 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


83 


endeavor it. I was not astonished that martyrs gave 
their lives for Jesus Christ. I thought them happy, 
and sighed after their privilege of suffering for him;— 
for I so esteemed the cross, that my greatest trouble 
was the want of suffering as much as my heart thirsted 
for. 

This respect and esteem for the cross continually 
increased, and although afterwards I lost the sensible 
relish and enjoyment thereof, yet the love and esteem 
has no more left me than the cross itself. Indeed, it 
has ever been my faithful companion, changing and 
augmenting, in proportion to the changes and disposi¬ 
tions of my inward state. O blessed cross, thou hast 
never quitted me, since I surrendered myself to my 
divine crucified Master, and I still hope that thou wilt 
never abandon me. So eager was I for the cross, that 
I endeavored to make myself feel the utmost rigor of 
every mortification, and felt them to the quick. Yet 
this only served to awaken my desire of suffering, and 
to show me that it is God alone that can prepare and 
send crosses suitable to a soul that thirsts for a follow¬ 
ing of his sufferings, and a conformity to his death. 
The more my state of prayer augmented, my desire of 
suffering grew stronger, as the full weight of heavy 
crosses from every side came thundering upon me. 

The peculiar property of this prayer of the heart is 
to give a strong faith. Mine was without limits, as 
was also my resignation to God, and my confidence in 
him,—my love of his will, and of the order of his prov¬ 
idence over me. I was very timorous before, but now 
feared nothing. It is in such a case that one feels the 
efficacy of these words of the Gospel, “My yoke is 
easy, and my burden is light.” Matt. xi. 30. 


84 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


CHAPTER XIH 

I had a secret desire given me from that time to be 
wholly devoted to the disposal of my God, let that be 
what it would. I said, “ What couldst thou demand of 
me, that I would not willingly offer thee ? Oh, spare 
me not.” The cross and humiliations were represented 
to my mind in the most frightful colors,—but this 
deterred me not. I yielded myself up as a willing 
victim, and indeed our Lord seemed to accept of my 
sacrifice, for his divine providence furnished me inces¬ 
santly with occasions and opportunities for putting it 
to the test. 

I could scarce hear God or our Lord Jesus Christ 
spoken of, without being almost transported out of 
myself. What surprised me the most was, the great 
difficulty I had to say the vocal prayers I had been used 
to repeat. As soon as I opened my lips to pronounce 
them, the love of God seized me so strongly, that I was 
swallowed up in a profound silence, and an inexpressi¬ 
ble peace. I made fresh attempts, but still in vain. 
I began again and again, but could not go on. And as 
I had never before heard of such a state, I knew not 
what to do. My inability still increased, because my 
love to the Lord was still growing more strong, more 
violent and more overpowering. There was made in 
me, without the sound of words, a continual prayer, 
which seemed to me to be the prayer of our Lord 
Jesus Christ himself; a prayer of the Word, which is 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


85 


made by the Spirit, that according to St. Paul, “ asketh 
for us that which is good, perfect, and conformable to 
the will of God.” Rom. viii. 26-27. 

My domestic crosses continued. I was prevented 
from seeing or even writing to Mrs. Granger. My very 
going to divine service or the blessed sacrament, were 
a source of woeful offences; and the only amusement I 
had left me, was the visiting and attending the sick 
poor, and performing the lowest offices for them. 

But now my prayer-time began to be exceedingly 
distressing. I compelled myself to continue at it, 
though deprived of all comfort and consolation; and 
yet when I was not employed therein, I felt an ardent 
desire and longing for it. I suffered inexpressible 
anguish in my mind, and endeavored with the severest 
inflictions of corporeal austerities to mitigate and divert 
it—but in vain; the dryness and barrenness still 
increased; I found no more that enlivening vigor 
which had hitherto carried me on with great swiftness. 
My passions (which were not thoroughly mortified) 
revived, and caused me new conflicts. I seemed to 
myself to be like those young brides, who find a great 
deal of difficulty to lay aside their self-love, and to 
follow their husbands to the war. I relapsed into a 
vain complacency and fondness for myself. My pro¬ 
pensity to pride and vanity, which seemed quite dead, 
while I was so filled with the love of God, now showed 
itself again, and gave me severe exercise; which made 
me lament the exterior beauty of my person, and pray 
to God incessantly, that he would remove from me that 
obstacle, and make me ugly. I could even have wished 
to be deaf, blind and dumb, that nothing might divert 
me from my love of God. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUTON. 


I set out on a journey, which we had then to make, 
and here I appeared more than ever like those lamps 
which emit a new glimmering flash, when they are just 
on the point of extinguishing. Alas! how many snares 
were laid in my way! I met them at every step. I 
even committed infidelities through unwatcnfulness. 
But, O my Lord, with what rigor didst thou punish 
them! A useless glance was checked as a sin. How 
many tears did those inadvertent faults cost me which 
I fell into, through a weak compliance, and even against 
my will! Thou knowest, O my Love, that thy rigor, 
exercised after my slips, was not the motive of those 
tears which I shed. With what pleasure would I have 
suffered the most rigorous severity to have been cured 
of my infidelity; and to what severe chastisement did I 
not condemn myself! Sometimes thou didst treat me 
like a father who pities the child, and caresses it after 
its involuntary faults. How often didst thou make 
me sensible of thy love towards me, notwithstanding 
my blemishes. It was the sweetness of this love after 
my falls which caused my greatest pain; for the more 
the amiableness of thy love was extended to me, the 
more inconsolable I was for having departed ever so 
little from thee. When I had let some inadvertence 
escape me, I found thee ready to receive me. And I 
have often cried out, “ O my Lord! is it possible thou 
canst be so gracious to such an offender, and so indul¬ 
gent to my faults; so propitious to one who has wan¬ 
dered astray from thee, by vain compliances, and an 
unworthy fondness for frivolous objects? And yet no 
sooner do I return, than I find thee waiting, with open 
arms ready to receive me. 

O sinner, sinner! hast thou any reason to complain 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


87 


of God? Ah, if there yet remains in thee any justice, 
confess the truth, and admit that it is owing to thyself 
if thou goest wrong; that in departing from him thou 
disobeyest hi3 call; and that, after all this, when thou 
returnest, he is ready to receive thee; and if thou 
returnest not, he makes use of the most engaging 
motives to win thee. Yet thou tumest a deaf ear to 
his voice; thou wilt not hear him. Thou say est he 
speaks not to thee, though he calls loudly. It is there¬ 
fore only because thou daily rebellest, and art growing 
daily more and more deaf to the voice of the charmer* 
O my Love, I am sure thou didst never cease to speak 
to my heart, and wast always ready to succor me in 
the time of need. 

When I was at Paris, and the clergy saw me so 
young, they appeared astonished. Those to whom I 
opened my state told me, “that I could never enough 
thank God for the graces conferred on me; that if I 
knew them I should be amazed at them; and that if I 
were not faithful, I should be the most ungrateful of 
all creatures/’ Some declared that they never knew any 
woman whom God held so closely, and in so great a 
purity of conscience. I believe what rendered it so 
was the continual care thou hadst over me, O my God, 
making me feel thy intimate presence, even as thou 
hast promised it to us in thy Gospel,—“ If a man love 
me, my Father will love him, and we will come unto 
him, and make our abode with him. John xiv. 23. 
The continual experience of thy presence in me was 
what preserved me. I became deeply assured of what 
the prophet hath said, “Except the Lord keep the 
city, the watchman waketh but in vain. Psa. cxxvii. 1. 
Thou, O my Love, wast my faithful keeper, who didst 


88 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


defend my heart against all sorts of enemies, prevent¬ 
ing the least faults, or correcting them when vivacity 
had occasioned their being committed. But alas! my 
dear Love, when thou didst cease to watch for me, or 
left me to myself, how weak was I, and how easily did 
my enemies prevail over me! Let others ascribe their 
victory to their own fidelity. As for me, I shall never 
attribute them to anything else than thy paternal care 
over me. I have too often experienced, to my cost, 
wbat I should be without thee, to presume in the least 
on any cares of my own. It is to thee, and to thee 
only, that I owe everything, O my Deliverer; and my 
being indebted to thee for it gives me infinite joy. 

While I was at Paris, I relaxed in my usual exer¬ 
cises, on account of the little time I had, and the dry¬ 
ness and distress which had seized my heart, the hand 
which sustained me being hid, and my Beloved with¬ 
drawn. I did many things which I should not; for I 
knew the extreme fondness which some had for me, 
and suffered them to express it without checking it as 
I ought. I fell into other faults too, as having my neck 
a little too bare, though not near so much as others 
nad. I wept bitterly because I plainly saw I was too 
remiss; and that was my torment. I sought all about 
for him who had secretly inflamed my heart. I in¬ 
quired for tidings of him. But, alas! hardly anybody 
knew him. I cried, “Oh, thou best beloved of my 
soul, hadst thou been near me these disasters had not 
befallen me. Tell me where thou feedest, where thou 
makest thy flock to rest at noon, in the bright day of 
eternity, which is not, like the day of time, subject to 
night and eclipses? 5 ’ When I say that I spoke thus to 
him, it is but to explain myself. In reality, it all 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


bfl 


passed almost in silence, for I could not speak. My 
heart had a language which was carried on without the 
sound of words, understood of its well-beloved, as he 
understands the language of the Word ever eloquent, 
which speaks incessantly in the innermost recesses of 
the soul Oh, sacred language! which experience only 
gives the comprehension of! Let not any think it a 
barren language, and effect of the mere imagination. 
Far different,—it is the silent expression of the Word 
in the soul. As he never ceases to speak, so he never 
ceases to operate. If people once came to know the 
operations of the Lord, in souls wholly resigned to his 
guiding, it would fill them with reverential admiration 
and awe. 

As I saw that the purity of my state was like to be 
sullied by too great a commerce with the creatures, I 
made haste to finish what detained me at Paris, in 
order to return to the country. ’Tis true, O my Lord, 
I felt that thou hadst given me strength enough to 
avoid the occasions of evil—but when I had so far 
yielded as to get into them, I found I could not resist 
the vain complaisances, and a number of other foibles 
wnich they ensnared me into. The pain which I felt 
after my faults was inexpressible. It was not an 
anguish that arose from any distinct idea or concep¬ 
tion, from any particular motive or affection—but a 
kind of devouring fire which ceased not, till the fault 
was consumed and the soul purified by it. It was a 
banishment of my soul from the presence of its Be¬ 
loved. its Bridegroom. I could have no access to him, 
neither could I have any rest out of him. I knew not 
what to do. I was like the dove out of the ark, which 
finding no rest for the soul of her foot, was constrained 


90 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


to return to the ark; but, finding the window shut, 
could only fly about and about it. In the meantime, 
through an infidelity which will ever render me culpa¬ 
ble, I strove to find some satisfaction without, but 
could not. This served to convince me of my folly, 
and of the vanity of those pleasures which are called 
innocent. When I was prevailed on to taste them, I felt 
a strong repulse, which, joined with my remorse for 
the transgression, changed the diversion into torment 
“Oh, my Father,” said I, “this is not thee; and noth¬ 
ing else, beside thee, can give solid pleasure.” 

One day, as much through unfaithfulness as 
complaisance, I went to take a walk at some of the 
public parks, rather from excess of vanity to show my¬ 
self there, than to take the pleasure of the place. Oh, 
my Lord! how didst thou make me sensible of this 
fault? But far from punishing me in letting me par¬ 
take of the amusement, thou didst it in holding me so 
close to thyself, that I could give no attention to any¬ 
thing but my fault and thy displeasure. After this I 
was invited with some other ladies to an entertainment 
at St. Cloud. Through vanity and weak compliance, 
I yielded and went. The affair was magnificent; they, 
though wise in the eye of the world, could relish it: 
but I was filled with bitterness. I could eat nothing, 
I could enjoy nothing,—my disquiet appeared on my 
countenance. Oh, what tears did it cost me! For 
above three months my Beloved withdrew his favoring 
presence, and I could see nothing but an angry God. 

I was on this occasion, and in another journey 
which I took with my husband into Touraine, like 
those animals destined for slaughter, which on certain 
days they adorn with greens and flowers, and bring in 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GTJYON. 


91 


pomp into the city, before they kill them. This weak 
beauty, on the eve of its decline, shone forth with new 
brightness, in order to become the sooner extinct. I 
was shortly after sorely afflicted with the small-pox. 

One day as I walked to Church, followed by a foot¬ 
man—in crossing a bridge I was met by a poor man; 
I went to give him alms; he thanked me but refused 
them, and then spoke to me in a wonderful manner of 
God and of divine things; he displayed to me my 
whole heart—my love to God; my charity, my too 
great fondness for my beauty, and all my faults; he 
told me ’twas not enough to avoid hell, but that the 
Lord required of me the utmost purity and height of 
perfection. My heart assented to his reproofs—I heard 
him with silence and respect—his words penetrated 
my very soul. When I arrived at the Church I fainted 
away; but have never seen the man since. 


92 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

After this, my husband enjoying some intermission 
of his almost continual ailments, had a mind to go to 
Orleans, and from thence into Touraine. In this jour¬ 
ney my vanity made its last blaze. I received abund¬ 
ance of visits and applauses. But how clearly did I see 
the folly of men who are so taken with vain beauty! 
I disliked the passion, yet not that in myself which 
caused it, though I sometimes ardently desired to be 
delivered from it. The continual combat of nature 
and grace cost me no small affliction. Nature was 
pleased with public applause; but grace made me dread 
it. "What augmented the temptation was, that they 
esteemed in me virtue, joined with youth and beauty; 
not knowing that all the virtue was only in God, and 
his protection, and all the weakness in myself. 

I went in search of confessors, to accuse myself of 
my failings, and to bewail my backslidings; but they 
were utterly insensible of my pain. They esteemed 
what God condemned. They treated as a virtue what 
to me appeared detestable in his sight. Ear from 
measuring my faults by his graces, they only consid¬ 
ered what I was, in comparison of what I might have 
been. Hence, instead of blaming me, they only flat¬ 
tered my pride, and justified me in what incurred his 
rebuke; or only treated as a slight fault what in me 
was highly displeasing to him, from whom J had 
received such signal mercies. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


93 


The heinousness of sins is not to be measured 
sirgly by their nature, but also by the state of the 
person who commits them; as the least unfaithfulness 
in a spouse is more injurious to her husband, than far 
greater ones in his domestics. I told them all the 
trouble I had been under, for not having entirely cov¬ 
ered my neck; though it was covered much more than 
by other women of my age. They assured me that I 
was very modestly dressed; and as my husband liked 
my dress, there could be nothing amiss in it. My 
inward director taught me quite the contrary; but I 
had not courage enough to follow him, and to dress 
myself differently from others, at my age. Beside, my 
vanity furnished me with pretences seemingly just, for 
following the fashions. Oh, if pastors knew what hurt 
they do in humoring female vanity, they would be 
more severe against it. Had I found but one person 
hrnest enough to deal plainly with me, I should not 
hnve gone on thus; no, not for a moment. But my 
vanity, siding with the declared opinion of all others, 
induced me to think them in the right, and my own 
scruples to be mere fancy. 

We met with accidents in this journey, sufficient to 
have terrified anyone; and though corrupt nature pre¬ 
vailed so far as I have just mentioned, yet my resigna¬ 
tion to God was so strong, that I passed fearless, even 
where there was apparently no possibility of escape. 
At one time we got into a narrow pass, and did not 
perceive, until we were too far advanced to draw back, 
that the road was undermined by the river Loire, which 
ran beneath, and the banks had fallen in; so that in 
some places the footmen were obliged to support one 
side of the carriage. All around me were terrified to 


94 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


the highest degree, yet God kept me perfectly tran¬ 
quil; and I secretly rejoiced at the prospect of losing 
my life by a singular stroke of his providence. 

On my return, I went to see Mrs. Granger, to whom 
I related how it had been with me while abroad. She 
strengthened and encouraged me to pursue my first 
design, and she advised me to cover my neck entirely, 
which I have done ever since, notwithstanding the 
singularity of it. 

The Lord, who had so long deferred the chastise- 
ment merited by such a series of infidelities, now began 
to punish me with double rigor for the abuse of his 
grace. Sometimes I wished to retire to a convent, and 
thought it lawful, as I judged it impossible to corres¬ 
pond so fully with the divine operations, whilst en¬ 
gaged in worldly matters. I found wherein I was 
weak, and that my faults were always of the same 
nature; it was therefore I sought so ardently to shun 
the occasion. I wished to hide myself in some cave, 
or to be confined in a dreary prison, rather than enjoy 
a liberty by which I suffered so much. Divine Love 
gently drew me inward, and vanity dragged me out¬ 
ward, and my heart was rent asunder by the contest, 
as I neither gave myself wholly up to the one nor the 
other. 

I besought my God to deprive me of power to dis¬ 
please him, and cried,—“Art thou not strong enough 
wholly to eradicate this unjust duplicity out of my 
heart?” For my vanity broke forth when occasions 
offered; yet I quickly returned to God, and he, instead 
of repulsing or upbraiding me, often received me with 
open arms, and gave me fresh testimonials of his love, 
which filled me with the most painful reflections on my 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUY0N. 


95 


offence; for though this wretched vanity was still so 
prevalent, yet my love to God was such, that after my 
wanderings, I would rather have chosen his rod than 
his caresses. His interests, so to speak, were more 
dear to me than my own, and I wished he would have 
done himself justice upon me. My heart was full of 
grief and of love, and I was stung to the quick for 
offending him, who showered his grace so profusely 
upon me. That those who know not God should offend 
him by sin is not to be wondered at, but that a heart 
which loved him more than itself, and so fully experi¬ 
enced his love, that this heart should be seduced by 
propensities which it detests, is a most cruel martyr¬ 
dom, rendered inexpressibly afflicting by its long con¬ 
tinuance. 

When I felt most strongly thy presence, and thy 
love, O my Lord, said I, how wonderfully thou 
bestowest thy favors on such a wretched creature, who 
requites thee only with ingratitude. For if anyone 
reads this life with attention, he will see on God’s part, 
nothing but goodness, mercy, and love, and on my 
part, nothing but weakness, sin and infidelity. If 
there be anything that is good, it is thine, O my God! 
As for me, I have nothing to glory in but my infirmi¬ 
ties and my unworthiness, since, in that everlasting 
marriage-union thou hast made with me, I brought 
with me nothing but weakness, sin and misery. Oh, 
my Love! how I rejoice to owe all to thee, and that 
thou favorest my heart with a sight of the treasures 
and boundless riches of thy grace and love! Thou 
hast dealt by me, as if a magnificent king should marry 
a poor slave, forget her slavery, give her all the orna¬ 
ments which may render her pleasing in his eyes, and 


96 


THE LIFE OS’ MADAME GUYON. 


freely pardon her all the faults and ill qualities which 
her ignorance and had education had given her. This 
thou hast made my case. My poverty is become 
my riches, and in the extremity of my weakness I have 
found my strength. Oh, if any knew, with what con¬ 
fusion the indulgent favors of God cover the soul after 
its faults!—’tis inconceivable! Such a soul would wish 
with all its power to satisfy the divine justice. I made 
verses and little songs to bewail myself. I exercised 
austerities, but they did not satisfy my heart. They 
were like those drops of water which only serve to 
make the fire hotter. When I take a view of God, and 
myself, I am obliged to cry out, “ Oh, admirable con¬ 
duct of Love toward an ungrateful wretch! Oh, horri¬ 
ble ingratitude toward such unparalleled goodness” 
A great part of my life is only a mixture of such things 
as might be enough to sink me to the grave betwixt 
grief and love. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


97 


CHAPTER XY. 

On my arrival at home, I found my husband taken 
with the gout, and his other complaints; my little 
daughter ill, and like to die of the small-pox; my eld¬ 
est son, too, took it; and it was of so malignant a type, 
that it rendered him as disfigured, as before he was 
beautiful. As soon as I perceived the small-pox was 
in the house, I had no doubt but I should take it. Mrs. 
Granger advised me to leave if I could. My father 
offered to take me home, with my second son, whom I 
tenderly loved. But my mother-in-law would not suffer 
it. She persuaded my husband it was useless, and 
sent for a physician, who seconded her in it, saying, 
“ I should as readily take it at a distance as here, if I 
were disposed to take it.” I may say, she proved at 
that time a second Jephtha, and that she sacrificed us 
both, though innocently. Had she known what fol¬ 
lowed, I doubt not but she would have acted otherwise. 
All the town stirred in this affair. Everyone begged 
her to send me out of the house, and cried out that it 
was cruel to expose me thus. They set upon me, too, 
imagining I was unwilling to go; for I had not told 
that she was so averse to it. I had at that time no 
other disposition, than to sacrifice myself to divine 
Providence; and though I might have removed, not¬ 
withstanding my mother-in-law’s resistance, yet I 
would not without her consent; because it looked to 
me as if her resistance was an order of heaven. Oh, 


98 


THE LIFE OF MADAMF, GUYON. 


divine will of my Lord! Thou wast then my only life, 
in the midst of all my miseries. 

I continued in this spirit of sacrifice to God, wait¬ 
ing from moment to moment in an entire resignation, 
for whatever he should be pleased to ordain. I cannot 
express what nature suffered; for I was like one who 
sees both certain death and an easy remedy, without 
being able to avoid the former, or try the latter. I 
had no less apprehension for my younger son than for 
myself. My mother-in-law so excessively doted on the 
the eldest, that the rest of us were indifferent to her, 
Yet I am assured, if she had known that the younger 
would have died of the small-pox, she would not have 
acted as she did. God makes use of creatures, and 
their natural inclinations to accomplish his designs. 
When I see in the creatures a conduct which appears 
unreasonable and mortifying, I mount higher, and look 
upon them as instruments both of the mercy and jus¬ 
tice of God; for his justice is full of mercy. 

When I told my husband that my stomach was 
sick, and that I was taking the small-pox, he said it 
was only imagination. I let Mrs. Granger know the 
situation I was in. As she had a tender heart, she was 
affected by the treatment I met with, and encouraged 
me to offer myself up to the Lord. At length, nature 
finding there was no resource, consented to the sacri¬ 
fice which my spirit had already made. The disorder 
gained ground apace,—I was seized with a great shiv¬ 
ering, and a pain both in my head and stomach. They 
would not yet believe that I was sick; but in a few 
hours it went so far, that they thought my life in dan¬ 
ger; for I was also taken with an inflammation on my 
lungs, and the remedies for the one disorder were con- 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


99 


fcrary to the other. My mother-in-law’s favorite physi¬ 
cian was not in town, nor the resident surgeon. An¬ 
other surgeon was sent for, who said, “I must be bled;” 
but my mother-in-law would not suffer it at that time 
to be done. So little attendance was paid me, that I 
was on the point of death for the want of proper 
assistance. My husband, not being able to see me, 
left me entirely to his mother. She would not allow 
any physician but her own to prescribe for me, and 
yet did not send for him, though he was within a day’s 
journey of us. In this extremity I opened not my 
mouth to request any succor. I looked for life or 
death from the hand of God, without testifying the 
least uneasiness at such extraordinary conduct. The 
peace I enjoyed within, on account of that perfect res¬ 
ignation, in which God kept me by his grace, was so 
great, that it made me forget myself, in the midst of 
such violent and oppressive disorders. 

But the Lord’s protection was indeed wonderful. 
How oft have I been reduced to extremity, yet he 
never failed to succor, when things appeared most 
desperate. It pleased him so to order it, that a skilful 
surgeon, who had attended me before, passing by our 
house, inquired after me. They told him I was ex¬ 
tremely ill. He alighted immediately, and came in to 
see me. Never was a man more surprised, when he 
saw the frightful condition I was in. The small-pox, 
which could not come out, had fallen on my nose with 
such force, that it was quite black. He thought there 
had been a gangrene in it, and that it was going to 
fall off. My eyes were like two coals; but I was not 
alarmed; for at that time I could have made a sacrifice 
of all things, and was pleased that God should avenge 


100 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


himself on that face, which had betrayed me into so 
many infidelities. He was so affrighted that he could 
not hide his surprise, and went into my mother-in-law’s 
chamber, and told her, “ it was most shameful to let 
me die in that manner, for want of bleeding.” She 
still opposed it so violently, that in short she told 
him flatly, “she would not suffer it, until the physi¬ 
cian returned.” He flew into such a rage, at seeing 
me thus left without sending for the physician, that he 
reproved my mother-in-law in the severest manner; 
but all in vain. Upon that he came up again presently 
into my chamber, and said, “If you choose, I will bleed 
you, and save your life.” I held out my arm to him; 
and, though it was extremely swelled, he bled me in an 
instant. My mother-in-law was in a violent passion 
about it. The small-pox came out immediately; and 
he ordered that they should get me bled again in the 
evening, but she would not suffer it; and for fear of 
displeasing my mother-in-law, and through a total 
resignation of myself into the hands of God, I durst 
not retain him, whatever occasion I had for it. 

I am more particular in this relation, to show how 
advantageous it is to resign one’s self to God without 
reserve. Though in appearance he leaves us for a 
time to prove and exercise our faith, yet he never fails 
us, when our need of him is the more pressing. One 
may say with the Scripture, “It is God who bringeth 
down to the gates of death, and raiseth up again.” The 
blackness and swelling of my nose went off, and I 
believe, had they continued to bleed me, I had been 
pretty easy; but for want of that I grew worse again. 
The malady fell into my eyes, and inflamed them with 
such severe pain, that I thought I should lose them both. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON 


101 


I had those violent pains for three iv ehs, during 
which I got very little sleep. I could not shut my 
eyes, they were so full of the small-pox, nor open them 
by reason of the pain I endured. There was the great¬ 
est probability that I should lose my sight, but I was 
wholly reconciled to the loss. My throat, palate, and 
gums were likewise so filled with the pock, that I could 
not swallow broth, or take any nourishment, without 
suffering extremely. My whole body looked like that 
of a leper. All that saw me said, they had never seen 
such a shocking spectacle. But as to my soul, it was 
kept in a contentment not to be expressed. The hopes 
of its liberty, by the loss of that beauty, which had so 
frequently brought me under bondage, rendered me so 
well satisfied, and so united to God, that I would not 
have changed my condition for that of the most happy 
prince in the world. 

Everyone thought I would be inconsolable; and sev¬ 
eral expressed their sympathy in my sad condition, as 
they judged it; while I lay still, in the secret fruition 
of a joy unspeakable, in this total deprivation of what 
had been a snare to my pride, and to the passions of 
men. I praised God in profound silence. None ever 
heard any complaints from me, either of my pains or 
the loss I sustained. The only thing that I said was, 
that I rejoiced at, and was exceedingly thankful for the 
interior liberty I gained thereby; and they construed 
this as a great crime. My confessor, who had been dis¬ 
satisfied with me before, came to see me. He asked me 
if I was not sorry for having the small-pox; and he now 
taxed me with pride for my answer. 

My youngest little boy took the distemper the same 
day with myself, and died for want of care. This blow 


102 


THE LI EE OF MADAME GUYON. 

V / 

indeed struck me to tlie heart, but yet, drawing strength 
from my weakness, I offered him up, and said to God 
as Job did, “Thou gayest him to me, and thou takest 
him from me; blessed be thy holy name.” The spirit of 
sacrifice possessed me so strongly, that, though I loved 
this child tenderly, I never shed a tear at hearing of his 
death. The day he was buried, the doctor sent to tell 
me he had not placed a tombstone upon his grave, 
because my little girl could not survive him two days. 
My eldest son was not yet out of danger, so that I saw 
myself stripped of all my children at once, my husband 
indisposed, and myself extremely so. The Lord did 
not take my little girl then. He prolonged her life 
some years. 

At last my mother-in-law’s physician arrived, at a 
time wherein he could be of but little service to me. 
When he saw the strange inflammation in my eyes, he 
bled me several times; but it was too late. And those 
bleedings which would have been so proper at first, 
did nothing but weaken me now. They could not 
even bleed me in the condition I was in, but with the 
greatest difficulty; for my arms were so swelled, that 
the surgeon was obliged to push in the lance to a great 
depth. Moreover, the bleeding being out of season 
had liked to have caused my death. This, I confess, 
would have been very agreeable to me. I looked upon 
death as the greatest blessing for me. Yet I saw well 
I had nothing to hope on that side; and that, instead 
of meeting with so desirable an event, I must prepare 
myself to support the trials of life. 

After my eldest son was grown better, he got up 
and came into my chamber. I was surprised at the 
extraordinary change I saw in him. His face, lately 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


103 


so fair and beautiful, was become like a coarse spot of 
earth, all full of furrows. That gave me the curiosity 
to view myself in the looking-glass. I felt shocked, for 
I saw that God had ordered the sacrifice in all its 
reality. 

Somethings now fell out by the contrariety of my 
mother-in-law, that caused me severe crosses, and put 
the finishing stroke to my son’s face. However, my 
heart was firm in God, and strengthened itself by 
the number and greatness of my sufferings. I was as 
a victim incessantly offered upon the altar, to Him who 
first sacrificed himself for love. “ What shall I render 
to the Lord, for all his benefits toward me ? I will 
take the cup of salvation, and call upon the name of 
the Lord.” These words, I can truly say, O my God, 
have been the delight of my heart, and have had their 
effect on me, through my whole life; for I have been 
continually heaped with thy blessings and thy cross. 
My principal attraction, besides that of suffering for 
thee, has been to yield myself up without resistance, 
interiorly and exteriorly, to all thy divine disposals; 
and these gifts which I was favored with from the 
beginning, have continued and increased until now;— 
for thou hast thyself guided my continual crosses, and 
led me through paths impenetrable to all but thee. 

They sent me pomatums to recover my complexion, 
and to fill up the hollows of the small-pox. I had seen 
wonderful effects from it upon others, and therefore at 
first had a mind to try them. But Love, jealous of his 
work, would not suffer it. There was a voice in my 
heart which said, “If I would have had thee fair, I 
would have left thee as thou wert.” I was therefore 
obliged to lay aside every remedy, and to go into the 


104 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


air, which made the pitting worse; and to expose my¬ 
self in the street to the eyes of everyone, when the 
redness of the small-pox was at the worst, in order to 
make my humiliation triumph, where I had exalted my 
pride. 

My husband kept his bed almost all that time, and 
made good use of his indisposition. Only as he now 
lost that, which before gave him so much pleasure in 
viewing me, he grew much more susceptible of impres¬ 
sions which any gave him against me. In consequence 
of this, the persons who spoke to him to my disadvan¬ 
tage, finding themselves now better hearkened to, spoke 
more boldly and more frequently. There was only 
thou, O my God, who changed not for me. Thou 
didst redouble my interior graces, in proportion as 
thou didst augment my exterior crosses. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


105 


CHAPTER XVL 

My waiting-maid became every day more haughty. 
Seeing that her scoldings and outcries did not now 
torment me, she thought, if she could hinder me from 
going to the communion, she would give me the great¬ 
est of all vexations. She was not mistaken, O divine 
Spouse of pure souls, since the only satisfaction of my 
life was to receive and to honor thee. I procured, as 
much as was in my power, the Churches to be well 
adorned I gave everything, of the finest I had, to 
furnish them with ornaments, and contributed to the 
utmost extent of my abilities, to make them have silver 
plates and chalices. “Oh, my Love,” I cried, “let me 
be thy victim! Spare nothing to ann ih ilate me.” I 
felt an inexpressible longing to be more reduced, and 
to become, as it were, nothing. 

This girl then knew my affection for the holy sacra¬ 
ment, where, when I could have liberty for it, I passed 
several hours on my knees. She took it in her head to 
watch me daily. When she discovered me going 
thither, she ran to tell my mother-in-law and my hus¬ 
band. There needed no more to chagrin them. Their 
invectives lasted the whole day. If a word escaped me 
in my own justification, it was enough to make them 
say, I was guilty of sacrilege, and to raise an outcry 
against all devotion. If I made them no answer at all, 
they still heightened their indignation, and said the 
most grating tilings they could devise. If I fell sick, 



106 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


which often happened, they took occasion to come to 
quarrel with me in my bed, saying, my communion 
and prayers were what made me sick; as if there had 
been nothing else could make me ill, but my devotion 
to thee, O my Beloved! 

She told me one day, in her passion, that she was 
going to write to him who she thought was my direc¬ 
tor, to get him to stop me from going to the commu¬ 
nion, for that he did not know me. And when I made 
her no answer, she cried out as loud as she could, 
“ that I treated her ill and despised her.” When I 
went out to go to prayers, (though I had taken care to 
arrange everything about the house,) she ran to tell my 
husband that I was going abroad, and had left nothing 
in order. WHien I returned home, rage fell on me in 
all its violence. They would hear none of my reasons, 
but said, “they were all a pack of lies.” My mother- 
in-law persuaded my husband, “that I let everything 
go to wreck, and that if she did not take the care of 
things, he would be ruined. He believed it, and I bore 
all with patience, endeavoring, as well as I could, to do 
my duty. What gave most trouble was the not know¬ 
ing what course to take; for when I ordered anything 
without her, she complained “that I showed her no 
respect, that I did things of my own head, and that 
they were done always the worse for it.” Then she 
would order them quite contrary. If I consulted her 
to know what, or how she would have anything to 
be done, she said, “I compelled her to have the care 
and trouble of everything.” 

I had scarcely any rest but what I found in the 
love of thy will, O my God, and submission to thy 
orders, however rigorous they might be. They inces- 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


107 


santly watched my words and actions, to find occasion 
against me. They chided me all the day long, contin¬ 
ually repeating, and harping over and over the same 
things, and that even before the servants. How often 
have I made my meals on my tears, which were inter¬ 
preted as the most criminal in the world! They said, 
I would be damned; as if the tears would open a hell 
for me, which surely they were more likely to extin¬ 
guish. If I recited anything I had heard, they would 
render me accountable for the truth of it. If I kept 
silence, they taxed me with contempt and perverseness; 
if I knew anything without telling it, that was a crime; 
if I told it, then they said, “I had forged it.” Some¬ 
times they tormented me for several days successively, 
without giving me any relaxation. The girls said, 
“ I ought to feign sickness, to get a little rest.” I made 
no reply. The love of God so closely possessed me, 
that it would not allow me to seek relief by a single 
word, or even by a look. Sometimes I said in myself, 
“ Oh, that I had but any one who would take notice of 
me, or to whom I might unbosom myself,—what a 
relief it would be to me! ” But it was not granted me. 

Yet, if I happened to be for some days freed from 
the exterior cross, it was a most sensible distress to me, 
and indeed a punishment more difficult to bear than the 
severest trials. I then comprehended what St. Teresa 
says, “Let me suffer or die.” For this absence of the 
cross was so grievous to me, that I languished with the 
ardency of desire for its return. But no sooner was 
this earnest longing granted, and the blessed cross 
returned again, than strange as it may seem, it ap¬ 
peared so weighty and burdensome, as to be almost 
insupportable. 


108 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


Though I loved my father extremely, and he loved 
me very tenderly, yet I never spoke to him of my suf¬ 
ferings. One of my relations, vrho loved me very much, 
perceived the little moderation they used toward me. 
They spoke very roughly to me before him. He was 
highly displeased, and told my father of it, adding, 
that I would pass for a fooL Soon after I went to see 
my father, who, contrary to his custom, sharply repri¬ 
manded me, “for suffering them to treat me in such a 
manner, without saying anything in my own defence,” 
adding, “everyone talked of me for it; that it looked 
as if I had neither sense nor spirit to vindicate myself.” 
I answered, “If they knew what my husband said to 
me, that was confusion enough for me, without my 
bringing any more of it on myself by replies; that if 
they did not notice it, I ought not to cause it to be 
observed, nor expose my husband’s weakness; that 
remaining silent stopped all disputes, whereas I might 
cause them to be continued and increased, by my 
replies.” My father answered, “I did well, and that I 
should continue to act as God should inspire me.” 
And after that, he never spoke to me of it any more. 

They were ever talking to me against my father, 
whom I most tenderly loved and respected, against my 
relations, and all such as I esteemed most. I felt this 
more keenly than all they could say against myself. 
I could not forbear defending them, and therein I did 
wrong; as whatever I said served only to provoke 
them. If any complained of my father or relations, 
they were always in the right. If any, whom they had 
disliked before, spoke against them, they were present¬ 
ly approved of. If any showed friendship to me, such 
were not welcome. A relation whom I gr eatly loved 



THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYOX. 


109 


for her piety, coming to see me, they openly bid her 
begone, or treated her in such a manner as obliged her 
to go, which gave me no small uneasiness. When any 
person of distinction came, they would speak against 
me; even to those who knew me not, which surprised 
them. But when they saw me they pitied me. 

It mattered not what they said against me, love 
would not allow me to justify myself. I spoke not to 
my husband of what either my mother-in-law or the 
girl did to me, except the first year, when I was not 
sufficiently touched with the power of God, to suffer 
such treatment Nay, I did more than this; for as my 
mother-in-law and my husband were both passionate, 
they often quarrelled. Then I was in favor, and to me 
they made their mutual complaints. I never told the 
one what the other had said. An d though it might 
have been of service to me, humanly speaking, to take 
advantage of such opportunities, I never made use of 
them to complain of either. Nay, on the contrary, I did 
not rest till I had reconciled them. I spoke many 
obliging things of the one to the other, which always 
made them friends again; though I knew by frequent 
experience that I should pay dear for their re-union. 
For scarcely were they reconciled, but they joined 
together against me. 

I was so deeply engaged within, as often to forget 
things without, yet not anything which was of conse¬ 
quence. My husband wa3 hasty, and this inattention 
frequently irritated him. I walked into the garden, 
without observing anything there. And when my hus¬ 
band, who could not go thither, asked me about it, I 
knew not what to say, at which he was angry. I went 
thither on purpose to notice everything, in order to tell 



110 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


him about them; and yet when there, did not think of 
looking at them. I went ten times one day, to see and 
bring him an account of them, and yet still forgot it. 
But when I did remember to look at them, I was much 
pleased; yet it generally happened I was then asked 
nothing about them. 

All my crosses to me would have seemed little, if I 
might have had liberty to pray, and to be alone, to 
indulge the interior atracttion which I felt. But I was 
obliged still to continue in their presence, with such a 
subjection as is scarcely conceivable. My husband 
looked at his watch, if at any time I had liberty 
allowed me for. prayer, to see if I stayed above half an 
hour. If I exceeded it, he grew very uneasy. Some¬ 
times I said to him, “ Grant me one hour to divert and 
employ myself as I have a mind.” And though he 
would have granted it to me for other diversions, yet 
for prayer he would not. I confess that inexperience 
caused me much trouble, and I have often thereby 
given occasion for what they made me suffer. For ought 
I not to have looked on my captivity as an effect of the 
will of my God, to content myself therein, and to make 
it my only desire and prayer ? But I often fell back 
again into the anxiety of wishing to get time for prayer; 
which was not agreeable to my husband. It is true, 
those faults were more frequent in the beginning. 
Afterwards I prayed to God in his own retreat, in the 
temple of my heart, and then I went out no more. 



THE LIFE OF MADATVTR GUYON. 


Ill 


CHAPTER XYTL 

We went into the country, where I committed 
many faults, letting myself go too much after my in¬ 
ward attraction. I thought I might do it then because 
my husband diverted himself with building. If I 
stayed from him he was dissatisfied, which sometimes 
happened, as he was continually talking with the work¬ 
men. I set myself in a corner, and there had my work 
with me, but could scarcely do anything by reason of 
the force of the attraction which made the work fall 
out of my hands. I passed whole hours this way, with¬ 
out being able either to open my eyes or know what 
passed in me; but I had nothing to wish for, nor yet 
to be afraid of. Everywhere I found my proper centre, 
because everywhere I found God. 

My heart could then desire nothing but what it 
had; for this disposition extinguished all its desires; 
and I sometimes said to myself, “What wantest thou? 
What fearest thou?” And I was surprised to find upon 
trial that I had nothing to fear. Every place I was in 
was my proper place. 

As I had generally no time allowed me for prayer 
but with difficulty, and would not be suffered to rise 
till seven o'clock, my bed being in my husband's room 
on account of his illness—I stole up at four, and kneel¬ 
ing in my bed continued there, while he thought me 
asleep; for I wished not to offend him, and strove to be 
punctual and assiduous in everything. But this soon 


112 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GTTYON. 


affected my health and injured my eyes, which were 
still very weak, it being but eight months since I had 
the small-pox. This loss of rest brought a heavy trial 
upon me; for as even my sleeping hours were much 
broken, by the fear of not waking in time—I insensibly 
dropped asleep at my prayers; even the half hour thal. 
I got after dinner, though I felt quite wakeful, yet 
drowsiness overpowered me. I endeavored to remedy 
this by the severest bodily inflictions, but in vain. 

As we had not yet built the chapel, and were far 
from any Church, I could not go to prayers or sacra¬ 
ment, without the permission of my husband—and he 
was very reluctant to suffer me, except on Sundays and 
holidays. I could not go out in the coach, so that I 
was obliged to make use of some stratagems, and to 
get service performed very early in the morning, to 
which, feeble as I was, I made an effort to creep on foot, 
although it was a quarter of a league distant. And 
really God wrought wonders for me; for generally, in 
the mornings when I went to prayers, my husband did 
not awake till after I was returned. Often, as I was 
going out, the weather was so cloudy, that the girl I 
took with me Jtold me, “I could not go; or if I did, I 
should be soaked with the rain.” I answered her with 
my usual confidence, “ God will assist us.” I generally 
reached the chapel without being wet. While there 
the rain fell excessively. When I returned it ceased. 
When I got home it began again with fresh violence. 
During several years that I have acted this way, I 
have never been deceived in my confidence. When I 
was in town, and could find nobody up, to be seen, I 
was surprized that there came to me priests to ask me 
if I was willing to receive the communion, and that if 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


113 


I was they would give it to me. I had no mind refuse, 
O my Love, the opportunity which thou thyself offeredst 
me; far I had no doubt of its being thee who inspired 
them to propose it. Before I had contrived to get 
divine service at the chapel I have mentioned, I have 
often suddenly awoke with a strong impulse to go 
to prayers. My maid would say, “But, madam, you 
are going to tire yourself in vain. There will be no 
service.” For that chapel was not yet regularly served. 
However, I went full of faith, and at my arrival have 
found them just ready to begin. If I could particularly 
enumerate the remarkable providences, which were 
hereupon given in my favor, there would bo enough to 
fill whole volumes. 

When I wanted to hear from, or write to Mother 
Granger, I often felt a strong propensity to go to the 
door. There I found a messenger with a letter from 
her, which could not have fallen into my hands but for 
that. But this is only a small instance of these kind 
of continual providences. She was the only person I 
could be free to open my state to, when I could get to 
see her, which was with the greatest difficulty; and 
through providential assistance: having not only been 
prohibited by my confessor and husband, but all means 
that could be devised were put in practice by my 
mother-in-law to prevent it. I placed an extreme con¬ 
fidence in Mother Granger. I concealed nothing from 
her, either of my sins or my pains. I would not have 
done the least thing without telling her. I did not 
qow practice any austerities but those she was willing 
to allow me. There was nothing which I kept from 
her but my interior dispositions; those I was scarcely 
able to tell, because I knew not how to explain myself 


114 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


thereon, being very ignorant of those matters, saving 
never read or heard of them. 

One day when they thought I was going to see my 
father, I ran off to Mother Granger. It was discovered, 
and cost me such crosses as I cannot express. Their 
rage against me was so excessive, that it would be 
incredible. Even my writing to her was extremely 
difficult. For as I had the utmost abhorrence of a lie, 
I forbade the footman to tell any. When they were 
met they were asked whither they were going, and if 
they had any letters. My mother-in-law set herself in 
a little passage, through which those who went out 
must necessarily pass by her. She asked them whither 
they were going and what they carried. Sometimes 
going on foot to the Benedictines, I caused shoes to be 
carried, that they might not perceive by the dirty ones 
that I had been far. I durst not go alone; and those 
who attended me had orders to tell every place I went 
to. If they were discovered to fail in doing it, they 
were either corrected or discharged. 

My husband and mother-in-law were always inveigh¬ 
ing against that good woman, though in reality they 
esteemed her. I sometimes made my own complaint 
to .her: and she replied, “How should you content 
them, when I have been doing all in my power for 
these twenty years to satisfy them without success ? ” 
For as my mother-in-law had two daughters under her 
care, she was always finding something to say against 
everything she did in regard to them. 

But the most sensible cross to me now was the 
revolting of my own son against me, whom they in¬ 
spired with so great a contempt for me, that I could 
not bear to see him without extreme affliction. When 


THE LIFE OF MADAME QTJYON. 


115 


I toss in my chamber with some of my friends, they 
sent him to listen to what we said; and as he saw this 
pleased them, he invented a hundred things to tell 
them. What gave me the severest pang was the loss 
of my child. If I caught him in a he, as I frequently 
did, he would upbraid me, saying, “My grandmother 
says you have been a greater bar than I.” I answered 
him, “ Therefore I know the deformity of that vice, and 
how hard a thing it is to get the better of it; and for 
this reason, I would not have you suffer the like.” He 
spoke to me things very offensive; and because he saw 
the awe I stood in of his grandmother and his father, 
if in their absence I found fault with him for anything, 
he insultingly upbraided me, and said, “That now I 
wanted to set up for his mistress, because they were 
not there.” All this they approved of, in so much as 
to strengthen him in his most perverse inclinations. 
One day he went to see my father, and rashly began 
talking against me to him, as he was used to do to his 
grandmother. But there it did not meet with the same 
recompense. It affected my father to tears. He came 
to our house to desire he might be corrected for it. 
They promised it should be done, and yet they never 
did it. I was grievously afraid of the consequences of 
so bad an education. 11 old Mother Granger of it, 
who consoled me, and said, “That since I could not 
remedy it, I must suffer and leave everything to God; 
and that this child would be my cross.” 

Another great cross was the difficulty I had in 
attending my husband. I knew he was displeased 
when I was not with him; and yet when I was with 
him, he never expressed any pleasure in it, nor at any¬ 
thing I did. On the contrary, he only rejected with 


116 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


scorn whatever office I performed. He was so very 
uneasy with me about everything, that I sometimes 
trembled when I approached him. I could do nothing 
to his liking; and when I did not attend him he was 
angry. He had taken such a dislike to soups, that he 
could not bear the sight of them; and those that 
offered them had so rough a reception, that neither his 
mother nor any of the domestics would carry them to 
him. There was none but I who did not refuse that 
office. I brought them to him, and let his anger pass; 
then tried in some agreeable manner to prevail on him 
to take them. And when his passion increased, I 
waited with patience, after which I said to him, “ I had 
rather be reprimanded several times a day, than let 
you suffer by not bringing you what is proper.” Some¬ 
times he took them; at other times pushed them back. 
But as he saw my perseverance, he would at length 
submit to take them. 

When he was in a good humor, and I was earning 
something agreeable to him, then my mother-in-law 
would snatch it out of my hands, and cany it herself. 
And as he thought I was not so careful and studious 
to please him, he would fly in a lage against me, 
and express great thankfulness to his mother. I silently 
suffered it alL I used all my skill and endeavors to 
gain my mother-in-law’s favor by my assiduities, my 
presents, my services; but could not succed. How 
bitter and grievous, O my God, would such a life be 
were it not for thee ? But thou hast sweetened and 
reconciled it to me. I had a few very short intervals 
from this severe and mortifying life; but these served 
only to make the reverses more keen and bitter. 



THE LIFE OF MADAMF. GUYON. 


117 


CHAPTER XYm. 

About eight or nine months after my recovery from 
the small-pox. Father LaCombe, passing by our house, 
brought me a letter from Father de la Motte, recom¬ 
mending him to my esteem, and expressing the high¬ 
est friendship for him. I hesitated much, for I was 
very loth to make new acquaintances, but the fear of 
offending my brother prevailed. After a short conver¬ 
sation we both desired a farther opportunity. I thought 
that he either loved God, or was disposed to love him, 
and I wished everybody to love him . God had already 
made use of me for the conversion of three of his order. 
The strong desire he had of seeing me again induced 
him to come to our country house, which was about 
hah a league from the town. A little incident which 
happened opened a way for me to speak to him. As 
he was in discourse with my husband, who relished his 
company, he was taken ill, and retired into the garden. 
My husband bade me go and see what was the matter 
with him. He told me he had remarked in my coun¬ 
tenance a deep inwardness and presence of God, which 
had given him a strong desire of seeing me again 
And God then assisted me to open to him the interior 
path of the soul, and conveyed so much grace to him 
through this poor channel, that he has owned to me 
since, that he went away changed into quite another 
man. I preserved an esteem for him; for it appeared 
'•o me that he would be devoted to God; but little did 


118 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


I then foresee, that I should ever be led to the place 
where he was to reside. 

My disposition at this time, as I have said, was a 
continual prayer, without knowing it to be such; for 
the presence of God was so plentifully given, that it 
seemed to be more in me than my very self. The sen¬ 
sibility thereof was so powerful, so penetrating, it 
seemed to me irresistible; and love took from me all 
liberty of my own. At other times I was so dry, I felt 
nothing but the pain of absence, which was the keener 
to me, as the divine presence had before been so sensi¬ 
ble. In these alternatives, when love was present, I 
forgot in such a manner all my troubles and pains, that 
it appeared to me as if I had never experienced any. 
And, in its absence, it seemed as if it would never 
return again. I still thought it was through some fault 
of mine it was withdrawn, and that rendered me incon¬ 
solable. Had I known it had been a state through 
which it was necessary to pass, I should not have been 
troubled; for my strong love to the will of God would 
have rendered everything easy to me; the property of 
this prayer being to give a great love to the order of 
God, with so sublime and perfect a reliance on him, as 
to fear nothing, whether danger, thunders, spirits, or 
death. It gives a great abstraction from one’s self, our 
own interests and reputation, with an utter disregard 
to every thing of the kind; all being swallowed up in 
the esteem of the will of God. 

At home, I was accused of everything that was ill 
done, spoiled or broken. At first I told the truth, and 
said it was not L They persisted, and accused me of 
lying. I then made no reply. Besides, they told all 
their tales to such as came to the house. But when I 


THE LIFE OF MADATVfF, GUYON. 


119 


was afterwards alone with the same persons, I never 
undeceived them. I often heard such things said of 
me, before my friends, as were enough to make them 
entertain a bad opinion of me. My heart kept its hab¬ 
itation in the tacit consciousness of my own innocence, 
not concerning myself whether they thought well or ill 
of me; excluding all the world, all opinions or censures, 
out of my view, and minding nothing else but the 
friendship of God only. 

If through infidelity I happened at any time to 
justify myself, I always failed, and drew upon myself 
new crosses, both within and without. But notwith¬ 
standing all this, I was so enamored with it, that the 
greatest cross of all would have been to be without any. 
When the cross was taken from me for any short space, 
it seemed to me that it was because of the bad use I 
made of it; and that my unfaithfulness deprived me of 
so great an advantage; for I never knew its value better 
than in its loss. Oh, dear cross, my faithful companion! 
As my Savior became incarnate, only to die in thy 
arms, should I not be conformable to him in that? 
And wilt not thou be the means of uniting me to him 
forever? O my Love, I cried, punish me any way, but 
take not the cross from me. This amiable cross 
etumed to me with so much the more weight, as my 
desire was more vehement. I could not reconcile two 
things, they appeared to me so very opposite; viz., To 
desire the cross with so much ardor, and to support it 
with so much difficulty and pain. 

God knows well, in the admirable economy he 
observes, how to render the crosses more weighty, con¬ 
formable to the ability of the creature to bear them; 
giving them always something new and unexpocted. 


120 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


Hereby my soul began to be more resigned, and to 
comprehend that the state of absence, and of wanting 
what I longed for, was in its turn more profitable than 
that of always abounding; because this latter nourished 
self-love. If God did not act thus, the soul would 
never die to itself. That principle of self-love is so 
crafty and dangerous, that it cleaves to everything. 

What gave me most uneasiness, in this time of 
darkness and crucifixion, both within and without, was 
an inconceivable readiness to be quick and hasty. 
When any answer a little too lively escaped me, (which 
served not a little to humble me,) they said, “I was 
fallen into a mortal sin.” A conduct no less rigorous 
than this was quite necessary for me: for I was so 
proud, passionate, and of a humor naturally thwarting, 
wanting always to carry matters my own way, and 
thinking my own reasons better than those of others; 
that, hadst thou, O my God, spared the strokes of thy 
hammer, I should never have been formed to thy will, 
to be an instrument for thy use; for I was ridiculously 
vain. Applause rendered me intolerable. I praised 
my friends to excess, and blamed others without reason. 
But, the more criminal I have been, the more I am 
indebted to thee, and the less of any good can I attrib¬ 
ute to myself. Oh, how blind are men who attribute 
to others the holiness that God gives them! I believe, 
my God, that thou hast had children, who under thy 
grace, owed much to their own fidelity; but as for me, 
I owe all to thee; I glory to confess it; 1 >annot 
acknowledge it too much. 

In acts of charity I was very assiduous. Bo great 
was my tenderness for the poor, that I wished to have 
supplied all their wants. I could not see their necessity. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GTJYON. 


121 


'without reproaching myself for the plenty I enjoyed. 
I deprived myself of all I could to help them. The 
very best at my table was distributed among them. 
There were few of the poor where I lived, who did not 
partake of my liberality. It seemed as if thou hadst 
made me thy only almoner there, for being refused by 
others, they all came to me. “Oh, my divine Love,” 
I cried, “it is thy substance; I am only the steward. 
I ought to distribute it according to thy will” I found 
means to relieve them without letting myself be known, 
because I had one who dispensed my alms privately. 
When there were families who were ashamed to take it 
in this way, I sent it to them as if I owed them a debt 
I clothed such as were naked, and caused young girls 
to be taught how to earn their livelihood, especially 
such as were handsome; to the end that being em¬ 
ployed, and having whereon to live, they might not be 
under a temptation to throw themselves away. God 
made use of me to reclaim several from their disor¬ 
derly lives; and there was one of beauty and distinc¬ 
tion, who has since made a happy end. I went to visit 
the sick, to comfort them, to make their beds. I made 
ointments, dressed their wounds, buried their dead. I 
privately furnished tradesmen and mechanics where¬ 
with to keep up their shops. My heart was much 
opened toward my fellow-creatures in distress; and 
few indeed could carry charity much farther than our 
Lord enabled me to do, according to my state, both 
while married and since. 

To purify me the more from the mixture I might 
make of his gifts with my own self-love, he gave me 
interior probations, which were very heavy. I began 
to experience an insupportable weight, in that very 


122 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


piety which had formerly been so easy and delightful 
to me; not that I did not love it extremely, but I found 
myself defective in that noble practice of it, to which I 
aspired. The more I loved it, the more I labored to 
acquire what I saw I failed in. But, alas! I seemed 
continually to be overcome by that which was the con¬ 
trary to it. My heart, indeed, was detached from all 
sensual pleasures. For these several years past, it has 
seemed to me that my mind is so detached and absent 
from the body, that I do things as if I did them not. 
If I eat, or refresh myself, it is done with such an 
absence, or separation, as I wonder at, and with an 
entire mortification of the keenness of sensation in ah 
the natural functions. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON 


123 


CHAPTER XIX. 

To resume the thread of my history, the small-pox 
had so much hurt one of my eyes, that it was feared I 
would lose it. The gland at the corner of my eye was 
much injured. An imposthume arose from time to 
time between the nose and the eye, which gave me 
exquisite pain till it was lanced. It swelled all my 
head to that degree, that I could not bear even a pil¬ 
low. The least noise was agony to me, though some¬ 
times they made a great commotion in my chamber. 
And yet this was a precious time to me, for two rea¬ 
sons: the first, because I was left in bed alone, where I 
had a sweet retreat without interruption; the other, 
because it answered the desire I had for suffering,— 
which desire was so great, that all the austerities of 
the body would have been but as a drop of water to 
quench so great a fire; and indeed the severities and 
rigors which I then exercised were extreme—but they 
did not appease this appetite for the cross. It is thou 
alone, O Crucified Savior, who canst make the cross 
truly effectual for the death of self. Let others bless 
themselves in their ease or gaiety, grandeur or pleas¬ 
ures, poor temporary heavens; as for me, my desires 
were all turned another way, even to the silent path of 
suffering for Christ, and to be united to him, through 
the mortification of all that was of nature in me, that 
my senses, appetites and will, being dead to these, 
might wholly live in him. 


4 


124 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYOIf. 


I obtained leave to go to Paris for the cure of my 
eye; and yet it was much more through the desire I 
had to see Monsieur Bertot, a man of profound experi¬ 
ence, whom Mother Granger had lately assigned to me 
for my director. I went to take leave of my father, 
who embraced me with peculiar tenderness, little think¬ 
ing then that it would be our last adieu. 

Paris was a place now no longer to be dreaded as 
in times past. The throngs only served to draw me 
into a deep recollection, and the noise of the streets 
but augmented my inward prayer. I saw Monsieur 
Bertot, who did not prove of that service to me, which 
he would have been if I had then the power to explain 
myself; but though I wished earnestly to hide nothing 
from him, yet God held me so closely to him, that I 
could scarcely tell him anything at alL As soon as I 
spoke to him, everything vanished from my mind, 
so that I could remember nothing but some few faults 
which I told him. As I saw him very seldom, and 
nothing stayed in my recollection, and as I read of 
nothing any way resembling my case, I knew not how 
to open myself upon it. Besides, I desired to make 
nothing known, but the evil which was in me. There¬ 
fore Monsieur Bertot knew me not, even till his death. 
This was ot great utility to me, by taking away every 
support, and making me truly die to myself. 

I went to pass the ten days, from the Ascension to 
Whitsuntide, at an abbey four leagues from Paris, the 
abbess of which had a particular friendship for me. 
Here my union with God seemed to be deeper and 
more continued, becoming always simple, but at the 
same time more close and intimate. 

One day I awoke suddenly at four o’clock in the 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


125 


morning, with a strong impression on my mind that 
my father was dead; and though at the same time my 
soul was in a very great contentment, yet my love for 
him affected it with sorrow, and my body with weak¬ 
ness. Under the strokes and daily troubles which 
befell me, my will was so subservient to thine, 
O my God, that it appeared absolutely united to it. 
There seemed, indeed, to be no will left in me but 
thine only. My own disappeared, and no desires, ten¬ 
dencies or inclinations were left, but to the one sole 
object of whatever was most pleasing to thee, be it 
what it would. If I had a will, it was in union with 
thine, as two well tuned lutes in concert,—that which 
is not touched renders the same sound as that which 
is touched; it is but one and the same sound, one 
pure harmony. It is this union of the will which 
establishes in perfect peace. Yet, though my own will 
was lost, as to its operations, I have found since, in the 
strange states I have been obliged to pass through, 
how much it had yet to cost me to have it totally lost, 
as to all its properties in all the circumstances, and 
whole extent thereof, so that the soul should retain 
no more any interest or desire of its own, of either 
time or eternity, but only the interest of God alone, in 
the manner that is known to himself, and not in our 
way of conceiving. How many souls are there which 
think their own wills quite lost, while they are yet very 
far from it! They would find they still subsist, if they 
met with severe trials. Who is there who does not 
wish something for himself, either of interest, wealth, 
honor, pleasure, conveniency, liberty, &c.? And he 
who thinks his mind loose from all these objects, 
because he possesses them, would soon perceive his 


126 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


attachment to them, were he stripped of those he is 
possessed of. If there are found in a whole age three 
persons so dead to everything, as to be utterly resigned 
to providence without any exception, they may well 
pass for prodigies of grace. 

In the afternoon as I was with the abbess, I told 
her I had strong presentiments of my father’s death. 
Indeed I could hardly speak, I was so affected within, 
and enfeebled without. Presently one came to tell her 
that she was wanted in the parlor. It was a messenger 
come in haste, with an account from my husband that 
my father was ill. And as I afterwards found, he suf¬ 
fered only twelve hours. He wa3 therefore by this 
time dead. The abbess returning, says, “Here is a 
letter from your husband, who writes that your father 
is taken violently ill.” I said to her, “ He is dead, I 
cannot have a doubt about it.” I sent away to Paris 
immediately, to hire a coach, to go the sooner; mine 
waited for me at the midway. I went off at nine 
o’clock at night. They said, “I was going to destroy 
myself,” for I had no acquaintance with me; as I had 
sent away my maid to Paris, to put everything in 
order there; and being in a religious house, I had no 
mind to keep any footman with me. The abbess told 
me, “that since I thought my father was dead, it would 
be rashness in me to expose myself, and run the risk 
of my life in that manner; that coaches could hardly 
pass the way I was going, it being no beaten road.” 
I answered, “ That it was my indispensible duty to go 
to assist my father, and that I ought not, on a bare 
apprehension, to exempt myself from it.” I then went 
alone, abandoned to Providence, with people unknown. 
My weakness was so great, that I could hardly keep 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


127 


my seat in tlie coach, and yet I was often forced to 
alight, on account of dangerous places in the road. 

In this way I wa3 obliged, about midnight, to cross 
a forest, notorious for murders and robberies. The 
most intrepid dreaded it; but my resignation left me 
scarce any room to think at all about it. Oh, what 
fears and uneasiness does a resigned soul spare itself! 
Thus all alone I arrived within five leagues of my own 
habitation, where I found my confessor who had 
opposed me, with one of my relations, waiting for me. 
The sweet consolation I had enjoyed, when alone, was 
now interrupted. My confessor, ignorant of my state, 
restrained me entirely. My grief was of such a nature 
that I could not shed a tear. And I was ashamed to 
hear a thing which I knew but too well, without giving 
any exterior mark of grief. The inward and profound 
peace I enjoyed dawned on my countenance, and the 
state I was in did not permit me to speak, or to do 
such things as are usually expected from persons of 
piety. I could do nothing but love and be silent. 

I found on my arrival at home, that my father was 
already buried, on account of the excessive heat. It was 
ten o’clock at night. All wore the habit of mourning. 
I had travelled thirty leagues in a day and a night. As 
I was very weak, not having taken any nourishment, I 
was instantly put to bed. 

About two o’clock in the morning my husband got 
up, and having gone out of my chamber, he returned 
presently, crying out with all his might, “ My daughter 
is dead! ” She was my only daughter, as dearly be¬ 
loved as truly lovely. She had so many graces both 
of body and mind conferred on her, that one must have 
been insensible not to have loved her. She had an 


128 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


extraordinary share of love to God. Often was she 
found in corners at prayer. As soon as she peTceived 
me at prayer* she came and joined; and if she dis¬ 
covered that I had been without her, she would weep 
bitterly and cry, “Ah, mamma, you pray but I don’t." 
When we were alone and she saw my eyes closed— 
she’d whisper, “Are you asleep?” and then cry out, 
“Ah no, you are praying to our dear Jesus;” and 
dropping on her knees before me, she would begin to 
pray too. She was several times whipped by her 
grandmother, because she said, “ She would never have 
any other husband but our Lord,” yet she could never 
make her say otherwise. She was innocent and modest 
as a little angel; very dutiful and endearing, and withal 
very beautiful. Her father doated on her, and to me 
she was very dear, much more for the qualities of her 
mind than those of her beautiful person. I looked 
upon her as my only consolation on earth; for she had 
as much affection for me, as her brother had aversion 
and contempt. She died of an unseasonable bleeding. 
But what shall I say? She died by the hands of him 
who was pleased, for wise reasons of his own, to strip 
me of all. 

There now remained to me only the son of my 
sorrow. He fell ill to the point of death, but was 
restored at the prayer of Mother Granger, now my 
only consolation after God. I no more wept for my 
child than for my father. I could only say, “Thou, 
O Lord, gave her to me; it pleases thee to take her 
back again, for she was thine.” As for my father, his 
virtue was so generally known, that I must rather be 
silent, than enter upon the subject. His reliance on 
God, his faith and patience were wonderful. Both died 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


129 


in July, 1672. From henceforth crosses were not spared 
me, and though I have had abundance of them hith¬ 
erto, yet they were only the shadows of those which I 
have been since obliged to pass through, pursuant to a 
marriage contract, which I had lately entered into with 
our Lord Jesus Christ. In this spiritual marriage I 
claimed for my dowry only crosses, scourges, persecu¬ 
tions, ignominies, lowliness, and nothingness of self, 
which in his great goodness, and for wise ends, as I 
have seen, he has been pleased to grant and confer 
upon me. 

One day, being in great distress on account of the 
redoubling of outward and inward crosses, I went into 
my closet to give vent to my grief. M. Bertot was 
brought into my mind, with this wish, “ Oh, that he 
was sensible of what I suffer! ” Though he wrote but 
very seldom, and with great difficulty, yet he wrote me 
a letter dated the same day about the cross, the finest 
and most consolatory he ever wrote me on that sub¬ 
ject. Sometimes my spirit was so oppressed with 
continual crosses, which scarcely gave me any relaxa¬ 
tion, that when alone my eyes turned every way, to see 
if they could find anything to give some relief. A 
word, a sigh, a trifle, or to know that anyone took part 
in my grief, would have been some comfort; but 
that was not granted me, not even to look toward 
heaven, or make any complaint. Love held me then 
so closely, that it would have this miserable nature to 
perish, without giving it any support or nourishment. 

Oh, my dearest Lord! thou yet gave my soul a 
victorious support, which made it triumph over all the 
weaknesses of nature, and seized thy knife to sacrifice 
it without sparing. And yet this nature so perverse, 


130 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


and full of artifices to save its life, at last took the 
course of nourishing itself on its own despair, and on 
its fidelity under such heavy and continual oppression, 
and withal sought to conceal the value it attributed 
thereto. But thy eyes, O my divine Love, were too 
penetrating not to detect the subtilty. Wherefore, 
thou, O my Shepherd, changed thy conduct toward it. 
Thou sometimes comforted it with thy crook and thy 
staff; that is to say, by thy conduct as loving as cruci¬ 
fying, but it was only to reduce it to the last extremity, 
as I shall show hereafter. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


131 


CHAPTER XX. 

A lady of rank, whom I sometimes visited, took a 
particular liking to me, because (as she was pleased to 
say) my person and manners were agreeable to her. 
She said that she observed in me something extraor¬ 
dinary and uncommon. I believe it was the inward 
attraction of my soul that appeared on my very coun¬ 
tenance. For one day a gentleman of fashion said to 
my husband’s aunt, “I saw the lady your niece; and it 
is very evident that she lives in the presence of God.” 
I was surprised at this, as I little thought such an one 
as he could know what it was to have God thus pres¬ 
ent. This lady, I say, began to be touched with the 
sense of God. For, wanting once to take me to the 
play, I refused to go; (as I never went to plays,) mak¬ 
ing use of the pretext of my husband’s continual indis¬ 
positions. She pressed me exceedingly, and said, “I 
should not be prevented by his sickness from taking 
some amusement; and that I was not of an age to be 
confined with the sick like a nurse.” I told her my 
reasons for acting so by my husband. She then 
perceived that it was more from a principle of piety, 
than the indispositions of my husband, that I did not 
go. Insisting to know my sentiment of plays, I told 
her, “I entirely disapproved of them, and especially 
for a Christian woman.” And as she was far more 
advanced in years than I was, what I then said made 
such an impression on her mind, she never went again. 


132 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


Being once with her and another lady, who was 
fond of talking and who had read the fathers, they 
spoke much of God. This lady spoke learnedly of him. 

I said scarcely anything, being inwardly drawn to 
silence, and troubled at such kind of conversation 
about God. My acquaintance came next day to see 
me,—“The Lord had so touched her heart, that she 
could hold out no longer.” I attributed this touch to 
something the other lady had said; but she said to me, 
“ Your silence had something in it which penetrated to 
the bottom of my soul; and I could not relish what 
the other said.” Then we spoke to one another with 
open hearts. 

It was then that God left indelible impressions of 
his grace on her soul, and she continued so athirst for 
him, that she could scarcely endure to converse on 
any other subject. That she might become wholly his, 
he deprived her of a most affectionate husband, and 
visited her with such severe crosses, and at the same 
time poured his grace so abundantly into her heart, 
that he soon became the sole master thereof. After 
the death of her husband, and the loss of most of her 
fortune, she went to reside four leagues from our 
house, on a small estate, which she had yet left. She 
obtained my husband’s consent to my going to spend 
a week with her, to console her under her losses. God 
gave her by my means all she wanted. She had a 
great share of understanding, but was surprised at my 
expressing things to her so far above my natural 
capacity. I should have been surprised at it myself, 
had I reflected on it. But it was God who gave me 
the gift for her sake, diffusing a flood of grace into her 
soul, without regarding the unworthiness of the chan- 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


133 


nel he was pleased to make use of. Since that time 
her soul has been the temple of the Holy Ghost., and 
our hearts have been indissolubly united. 

My husband and I took a little journey together* 
in which both my resignation and humility were exer¬ 
cised, yet without difficulty or constraint, so powerful 
was the influence of divine grace. We had all liked to 
have perished in a river. The rest of the company in 
a desperate fright threw themselves out of the coach, 
which sunk in the moving sand. I continued so much 
inwardly occupied, that I did not once think of the 
danger. God delivered me from it without my thought 
of avoiding it. I was quite content to be drowned, 
had he permitted it. It may be said, “I was rash.’’ 
I believe I was so; yet I rather chose to perish, trust¬ 
ing in God, than make my escape in a dependence on 
myself. But what say I? We do not perish, but for 
want of trusting in him. My pleasure is to be indebted 
to him for everything. This renders me content in my 
miseries, which I would rather endure all my life long, 
in a state of resignation to him, than put an end to 
them, in a dependence on myself. However, I would 
not advise others to act thus, unless they were in the 
same disposition which I was in at that time. 

As my husband’s maladies daily increased, he re¬ 
solved to go to St. Reine. He appeared very desirous 
of having none but me with him, and told me one day, 
“If they never spoke to me against you, I should be 
more easy, and you more happy.” In this journey I 
committed many faults of self-love and self-seeking; 
and being in a deep interior resignation, experienced 
thereby what I should be without thy fatherly care, 
O Lord. For some time past, thou hadst withdrawn 


134 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


from me that sweet interior correspondence which 
before I had only to follow. I was become like a poor 
traveller that had lost his way in the night, and could 
find no way, path, or track. But as I reserve for 
another place a description of the terrible darkness 
through which I passed, I shall here continue the 
thread of my history. My husband, in his return from 
St. Heine, passed by St. Edm. Having now no chil¬ 
dren but my first-born son, who was often at the gates 
of death, he wished exceedingly for hems, and prayed 
for them earnestly. God granted his desire, and gave 
me a second son. As I was several weeks without any 
one daring to speak to me, on account of my great 
weakness, it was a time of retreat and of silence, 
wherein I tried to indemnify myself for the loss of time 
I had sustained in the others, to pray to thee, O my 
God, and to continue alone with thee. I may say that 
God took a new possession of me, and left me not. It 
was a time of continual joy without interruption. As 
I had experienced many inward difficulties, weaknesses 
and withdrawings of my Love, it was a new life. It 
seemed as if I was already in the fruition of beatitude. 
But how dear did this happy time cost me, since it was 
only a preparative to a total privation of comfort for 
several years, without any support, or hope of return! 
It began with the death of Mrs. Granger, who had 
been my only consolation under God. Before my 
return from St. Heine I heard she was dead. 

When I received this news, I confess it was the 
most afflicting stroke I had ever felt. I thought, had 
I been with her at her death, I might have spoken to 
her, and received her last instructions; but God has so 
ordered it that I was deprived of her assistance in 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


136 


almost all my losses, in order to render the strokes 
more painful. Some months indeed before her death, 
it was shown to me, that though I could not see her 
but with difficulty, and suffering for it, yet she was 
still some support to me; and the Lord let me know 
that it would be profitable for me to be deprived of 
her. But at the time she died I did not think so. It 
was in that trying season when my paths were all 
blocked up, she was taken from me, she who might 
have guided me in my lonesome and difficult road,— 
bounded as it were with precipices, and entangled with 
briars and thorns. 

Oh, adorable conduct of my God! there must be no 
guide for the person whom thou art leading into the 
regions of darkness and death; no conductor for the 
man whom thou art determined to destroy, (that is, 
to cause to die totally to himself.) After having saved 
me with so much mercy, O my Love; after having led 
me by the hand in rugged paths, it seems thou wast 
bent on my destruction. May it not be said that thou 
dost not save but to destroy, nor go to seek the lost 
sheep, but to cause it to be yet more lost; that thou 
art pleased in building what is demolished, and in 
demolishing what is built. Thus thou wouldst over¬ 
turn the temple built by human endeavors, with so 
much care and industry—in order as it were miracu¬ 
lously to erect a divine structure—a house not built 
with hands, eternal in the heavens. Oh, secrets of the 
incomprehensible wisdom of God, unknown to any 
besides him self! Yet man, sprung up only of a few 
days, wants to penetrate, and to set bounds to it. Who 
is it that hath known the mind of the Lord, or who 
hath been his counsellor? Is it a wisdom only to be 


136 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


known through death to everything, and through the 
entire loss of all self. 

My brother now openly showed his hatred for me. 
He married at Orleans, and my husband had the com¬ 
plaisance to go to his marriage, though he was in a 
poor state of health, the roads bad, and so covered over 
with snow, that we had like to have been overset twelve 
or fifteen times. And yet, far from appearing 
obliged by his politeness, my brother quarrelled with 
him more than ever, and without any reason, too; and 
I was the butt of both their resentments. While I was 
at Orleans, meeting with one whom at that time I 
thought highly of, I was too forward and free in speak¬ 
ing to him of spiritual things, thinking I was doing 
well, but had a remorse for it afterwards; which I so 
remembered, that I no more fell into the like fault 
again. How often we mistake nature for grace! One 
must be dead to self, when such forwardness comes 
from God only. 

On my return, my brother treated me with the 
utmost contempt. Yet, my mind was so fully drawn 
inward, that although we had much more danger on 
the road than in going, I had no thought about myself, 
but all about my husband; so that seeing the coach 
overturning, I said, “Fear not, it is on my side that it 
falls; it will not hurt you.” I believe, had all perished, 
I should not have been moved. My peace was so pro¬ 
found that nothing could shake it. If these times con¬ 
tinued, we should be too strong. But they now began 
to come but seldom, and were followed with long and 
wearisome privations. Since that time my brother has 
changed for the better, and has turned on the side oi 
God, but he has never turned to me. It has been by 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON 


137 


particular permission of God, and the conduct of his 
providence over my soul, that has caused him and other 
religious persons, who have persecuted me, to think 
they were rendering glory to God, and doing acts of 
justice therein. And indeed, it is just that all crea¬ 
tures should be treacherous to me, and declare against 
me, who have too many times been treacherous to 
God, and sided with his enemy. 

After this there fell out a very perplexing affair. 
To me it caused great crosses, and seemed designed 
for nothing else. A certain person conceived so much 
malice against my husband, that he was determined to 
ruin him if possible. He found no other way to 
attempt it, but by entering into a private engagement 
with my brother; by which he obtained a power to de¬ 
mand, in the name of the king’s brother, two hundred 
thousand livres, which he pretended that my brother 
and I owed him. My brother signed the processes, 
upon an assurance given him that he should not pay 
anything. I think his youth engaged him in what he 
did not understand. This affair so chagrined my hus¬ 
band, that I have reason to believe it shortened his 
days. He was so angry with me, although I was inno¬ 
cent, that he could not speak to me but in a fury. He 
would give me no light into the affair, and I did not 
know in what it consisted. In the height of his rage> 
he said he would not meddle with it, but give me up my 
portion, and let me live as I could; with many other 
things still more grating. On the other side, my broth¬ 
er would not move in it, nor suffer anything to be 
done. The day when the trial was to come on, after 
prayer, I felt myself strongly pressed to go to the 
judges. I was wonderfully assisted herein, even so as 


138 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


to discover and unravel all the turns and artifices of 
tins affair, without knowing how I could have been 
able to do it. The first judge was so surprised to see 
the affair so very different from what he had thought it 
before, that he himself exhorted me to go to the other 
judges, and especially to the intendant, who was just 
then going to court, and was quite misinformed about 
the matter. God enabled me to manifest the truth in 
so clear a light, and gave such power to my words, that 
the intendant thanked me for having so seasonably 
come to undeceive, and set him right in the affair. 
Had I not done this, he assured me the cause had 
been lost. And as they saw the falsehood of every 
point, they would have condemned the plaintiff to pay 
the costs, if he had not been so great a prince, who lent 
his name to the scheme. To save the honor of the 
prince, they ordered us to pay him fifty crowns. Here¬ 
by the two hundred thousand livres were reduced to 
only one hundred and fifty. My husband was exceed- 
ingly pleased at what I had done; but my brother 
appeared as outrageous against me, as if I had caused 
him some very great loss. Thus moderately and at 
once ended an affair, which had at first appeared so 
very weighty and alarming. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUTON. 


139 


CHAPTER YYT 

About this time I fell into a state of total privation 
which lasted nearly seven years. I seemed to myself 
cast down, as it were, from a throne of enjoyment, 
like Nebuchadnezzar, to live among beasts; a deplor¬ 
able state, yet of the greatest advantage to me, by the 
use which divine wisdom made of it. This state of 
emptiness, darkness, and impotency, went far beyond 
any trials I had ever yet met with. I have since 
experienced, that the prayer of the heart when it 
appears most dry and barren, nevertheless is not 
ineffectual nor offered in vain. For God gives what is 
best for us, though not what we most relish or wish 
for. Were people but convinced of this truth, they 
would be far from complaining all their life long. By 
causing us death he would procure us life; for all our 
happiness, spiritual, temporal and eternal, consists in 
resigning ourselves to God, leaving it to him to do in 
us and with us as he pleases, and with so much the 
more submission, as things please us less. By this 
pure dependence on his Spirit, everything is given us 
admirably. Our very weaknesses, in his hand, prove 
a source of humiliation. If the soul were faithful to 
leave itself in the hand of God, sustaining all his oper¬ 
ations, whether gratifying or mortifying, suffering itself 
to be conducted, from moment to moment, by his hand, 
and annihilated by the strokes of his Providence, with¬ 
out complaining, or desiring anything but what it has; 


140 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


it would soon arrive at the experience of the eternal 
truth, though it might not at once know the ways and 
methods by which God conducted it thereto. 

But the misfortune is, that people want to direct 
God, instead of resigning themselves to be directed by 
him. They want to show him a way, instead of pas¬ 
sively following that wherein he leads them. Hence 
many souls, called to enjoy God himself, and not 
barely his gifts, spend all their lives in running after 
little consolations, and feeding on them; resting there 
only, and making all their happiness to consist therein. 

For you, my dear children, if my chains and my im¬ 
prisonment in any way afflict you, I pray that they may 
serve to engage you to seek nothing but God for him¬ 
self alone, and never to desire to possess him but by the 
death of your whole selves; never to seek to be some¬ 
thing in the ways of the Spirit, but choose ye to enter 
into the most profound nothingness. 

I had an internal strife, which continually racked 
me;—two powers which appeared equally strong, 
seemed equally to struggle for the mastery within me. 
On the one hand, a desire of pleasing thee, O my God, 
a fear of offending, and a continual tendency of all my 
powers to thee;—on the other side, the view of all my 
inward corruptions, the depravity of my heart, and the 
continual stirring and rising of self. Oh, what torrents 
of tears, what desolations have these cost me? “Is it 
possible,” I cried, “that I have received so many graces 
and favors from God—only to lose them;—that I have 
loved him with so much ardor, but to be eternally 
deprived of him;—that his benefits have only produced 
ingratitude,—his fidelity been repaid with infidelity; 
—that my heart has been emptied of all creatures, and 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


141 


created objects, and filled with liis blessed presence 
and love,—in order now to be wholly void of divine 
power, and only filled with wanderings and created 
objects! ” 

I could now no longer pray as formerly. Heaven 
seemed shut to me, and I thought justly, too. I could 
get no consolation, or make any complaint thereupon; 
nor had I any creature on earth to apply to, or to 
whom I might impart a knowledge of my condition. 
I found myself banished from all beings, without find¬ 
ing a support or refuge in anything. I could no more 
practice any virtue with facility; such as had formerly 
been so familiar seemed now to have left me. “Alas! ” 
said I, “is it possible that this heart, formerly all 
on fire, should now become like ice! ” I often thought 
all creatures combined against me. Laden with a 
weight of past sins, and a multitude of new ones, I 
could not think God would ever pardon me, but looked 
on myself as a victim designed for helL I would have 
been glad to do penances, to make use of prayers, 
pilgrimages, and vows. But still, whatever I tried for 
a remedy seemed only to increase the malady. I may 
say that tears were my drink, and sorrow my food. I 
felt in myself such a pain as I never could bring any to 
comprehend, but such as have experienced it. I had 
within myself an executioner who tortured me without 
respite. Even when I went to Church, I was not easy 
there. To sermons I could give no attention; they 
were now of no service or refreshment to me. I 
scarcely conceived or understood anything in them, or 
about them. 


142 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


CHAPTER XXH 

As my husband drew near his end, his distempers 
had no intermission. No sooner was he recovered from 
one but he fell into another. He bore great pains with 
much patience, offering them to God, and making a 
good use of them. Yet his anger toward me increased, 
because reports and stories of me were multiplied to 
him, and those about him did nothing but vex him. 
He was the more susceptible of such impressions, as 
his pains gave him a stronger bent to vexation. At 
this time, the maid, who had used to torment me, 
sometimes took pity on me. She came to see me as 
soon as I was gone into my closet, and said, “ Come to 
my master, that your mother-in-law may not speak any 
more to him against you.” I pretended to be ignorant 
of it all; but he could not conceal his displeasure, nor 
even suffer me near him. My mother-in-law at the 
same time kept no bounds. All that came to the house 
were witnesses of the continual scoldings, which I was 
forced to bear, and which I bore with much patience, 
notwithstanding my being in the condition I have 
mentioned. 

My husband having, sometime before his death, 
finished the building of the chapel in the country, 
where we spent a part of the summer, I had the conve- 
niency of hearing prayers every day, and of the com¬ 
munion; but not daring to do it openly every day, the 
priest privately admitted me to the communion. They 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


143 


solemnized the dedication of this little chapel, and 
though I had already begun to enter into the condi¬ 
tion I have described, yet when they began to bless it, 
I felt myself all on a sudden inwardly seized, which 
continued more than five hours, all the time of the 
ceremony, when our Lord made a new consecration of 
me to himself. I then seemed to myself a temple con¬ 
secrated to him, both for time and for eternity; and 
said within myself, (speaking both of the one and the 
other,) “May this temple never be profaned;—may the 
praises of God be sung therein forever! ” It seemed 
to me at that time as if my prayer was granted. But 
soon all this was taken from me, and not so much as 
any remembrance thereof left to console me. 

When I was at this country house, which was only 
a little place of retreat before the chapel was built, I 
retired for prayer to woods and caverns. How many 
times, here, has God preserved me from dangerous and 
venomous beasts! Sometimes, unawares, I kneeled 
upon serpents, which were there in great plenty; and 
they fled away without doing me any harm. Once I 
happened to be alone in a little wood wherein was a 
mad bull; but, without offering me the least hurt, he 
betook himself to flight. If I could recount all the 
providences of God in my favor, it would appear won¬ 
derful. They were indeed so frequent and continual, 
that I could not but be astonished at them. God ever¬ 
lastingly gives to such as have nothing to repay him. 
If there appears in the creature any fidelity or patience, 
it is he alone who gives it. If he ceases for an instant 
to support,—if he seems to leave me to myself, I cease 
to be strong, and find myself weaker than any other 
creature. If my miseries show what I am, his favors 


144 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


show what he is, and the extreme necessity I am under 
of ever depending on him. 

At last, after passing twelve years and four months 
in the crosses of marriage, as great as possible, except 
poverty which I never knew, though I had much 
desired it, God drew me out of that state (after the 
manner I am going to relate) to give me still stronger 
crosses to bear, and of such a nature as I had never met 
with before. For if you give attention, sir, to the life 
which you have ordered me to write, you will remark 
that my crosses have been increasing till the present 
time, one being removed to give place to another to 
succeed it, still heavier than the former. Amidst the 
great troubles imposed upon me, when they said, “ I 
was in a mortal sin,” I had nobody in the world to speak 
to. I could have wished to have had somebody for a 
witness of my conduct; but I had not any. I had no 
support, no confessor, no director, no friend, no coun¬ 
sellor. I had lost all. And after God had taken from me 
one after another, he withdrew also himself. I re¬ 
mained without any creature; and to complete my 
distress, I seemed to be left without God himself, who 
alone could support me in such a deeply distressing 
state. 

My husband’s illness grew every day more obstin¬ 
ate. He apprehended the approach of death, and even 
wished for it, so oppressive was the languishing life he 
dragged on. To his other ills was added, so great a 
dislike to every sort of nourishment, that he did not 
take anything necessary to sustain life. I alone had 
the courage to get him to take what little he did. The 
doctor advised him to go into the country. There for 
a few days at first he seemed to be better, when he was 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


145 


suddenly taken with a complication of diseases. His 
patience increased with his pain. I saw plainly he 
could not live long. It was a great trouble to me, that 
my mother-in-law kept me from him as much as she 
could, and infused into his mind such a displeasure 
against me, that I was afraid lest he should die in it 
I took a little interval of time when she happened not 
to be with him, and drawing near his bed, I kneeled 
down and said to him, “ That if I had ever done any 
thing that displeased him I begged his pardon, assur¬ 
ing him it had not been voluntary.” He appeared 
very much affected, and as he had just come out of a 
sound sleep, he said to me, “It is I who beg your par¬ 
don. I did not deserve you.” Alter that time he was 
not only pleased to see me, but gave me advice what I 
should do after his death; not to depend on the people 
on whom I now depended. He was for eight days 
very resigned and patient, though on account of the 
prevailing gangrene, he was cut and opened with a 
lance. I sent to Paris for the most skillful surgeon; 
but when he arrived my husband was dead. 

No mortal could die in a more Christian disposi¬ 
tion, or with more courage than he did, after having 
received the sacrament in a manner truly edifying. I 
was not present when he expired, for out of tenderness 
he had made me retire. He was above twenty hours 
unconscious and in the agonies of death. Thou didst 
order, O my God, that he should die on Magdalene’s 
eve, to show me that I was to be wholly thine. I re¬ 
newed every year, on Magdalene’s day, the marriage- 
contract which I made to thee, my Lord; and I found 
myself at that time free to renew it, and that most 
solemnly. It was in the morning on the 21st of July, 


146 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


1676, that he died. Next day I entered into my closet, 
in which was the image of my dear and divine spouse, 
the Lord Jesus Christ. I renewed my marriage-con¬ 
tract, and added thereto a vow of chastity, with a 
promise to make it perpetual, if M. Bertot, my director, 
would permit me to do it. After that I was filled with 
great interior joy, which was new to me, as for a long 
time past I had been plunged in the deepest bitterness. 

As soon as I heard that my husband had just ex¬ 
pired, “Oh, my God,” I cried, “thou hast broken my 
bonds, and I will offer thee a sacrifice of praise.” After 
that I remained in a deep silence, both exterior and 
interior, quite dry and without any support. I could 
neither weep nor speak. My mother-in-law said very 
fine things, and was very much commended for it by 
everyone. They were offended at my silence, which 
they attributed to want of resignation. A friar told 
me, that everyone admired the fine acts which my 
mother-in-law did; but as for me, they heard me say 
nothing; that I must sacrifice my loss to God. But I 
could not say one single word, let me strive as I would. 

I was indeed very much exhausted; for although I 
was but recently delivered of my daughter, yet I 
attended and sat up with my husband four and twenty 
nights before his death. I was more than a year after 
in recovering the fatigue, joined to my great weakness 
and pain both of body and of mind. The great 
depression, or dryness and stupidity which I was in, 
was such that I could not say a word about God. It 
bore me down in such a manner, that I could hardly 
epeak. However, I entered for some moments into 
the admiration of thy goodness, O my God, who had 
rendered me free, exactly on the day that 1 had taken 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUY0N. 


1*7 


thee for my spouse. I saw well that my crosses would 
not fail, since my mother-in-law had survived my hus¬ 
band. Also I was still tied, in having two children 
given me in so short a time before my husband’s death, 
which has evidently appeared the effect of divine wis¬ 
dom; for had I only my eldest son, I would have 
put him in a college; and have gone myself into the 
convent of the Benedictines, and so frustrated all 
the designs of God upon me. 

I was willing to show the esteem I had for my 
husband, in causing the most magnificent funeral to be 
made for him, at my own expense, that had ever been 
seen in that country. I paid off the legacies he had 
left. My mother-in-law violently opposed everything 
I could do for securing my own interests. I had 
nobody to apply to for advice or help; for my brother 
would not give me the least assistance. I was ignor¬ 
ant of business affairs; but God, independent of my 
natural understanding, always made me fit for every¬ 
thing that pleased him, and supplied me with such a 
perfect intelligence herein, that I succeeded. I omitted 
not the least minutia, and was surprised that ill these 
matters I should know without ever having learned. 
I digested all my papers, and regulated all my affairs, 
without assistance from any one. My husband had 
abundance of writings deposited in his hands. I took 
an exact inventory of them, and sent them severally to 
their owners, which, without divine assistance, would 
have been very difficult for me; because, my husband 
having been a long time sick, everything was in the 
greatest confusion. This gained me the reputation of 
being a skillful woman. 

There was one matter of great importance. A 


148 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


number of persons, who had been contending at law 
for several years, applied to my husband to settle their 
affairs. Though it was not properly the business of a 
gentleman, yet they applied to him, because he had 
both understanding and prudence; and as he had a 
love for several of them, he consented. There were 
twenty actions one upon another, and in all twenty-two 
persons concerned, who could not get any end put to 
their differences, by reason of new incidents continually 
falling out. My husband charged himself with getting 
lawyers to examine their papers, but died before he 
could make any procedure therein. After his death I 
sent for them to give them their papers; but they 
would not receive them, begging of me that I would 
accommodate them, and prevent their ruin. It ap¬ 
peared to me as ridiculous, as impossible, to undertake 
an affair of so great consequence, and which would 
require so long a discussion. Nevertheless, relying on 
the strength and wisdom of God, I consented. I shut 
myself up about thirty days in my closet, for all these 
affairs, without ever going out, but to mass and to my 
meals. The arbitration being at length prepared, they 
all signed it without seeing it. They were all so well 
satisfied therewith, that they could not forbear publish¬ 
ing it everywhere. It was God alone who did those 
things; for after they were settled I knew nothing 
about them; and if I now hear any talk of such things, 
to me it sounds like Arabic. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


149 


CHAPTER XXTTT. 

Being now a widow, my crosses, which one would 
have thought should have abated, only increased* 
That turbulent domestic I have so often mentioned, 
instead of growing milder, now that she depended on 
me, became more furious than ever. In our house she 
had amassed a good fortune, and I settled on her, 
besides, an annuity for the remainder of her life, for 
the services she had done my husband. She swelled 
with vanity and haughtiness. Having been used to sit 
up so much with an invalid, she had taken to drink 
wine, to keep up her spirits. This had now passed 
into a habit. As she grew aged and weak, a very little 
affected her. I tried to hide this fault; but it grew so 
that it could not be concealed. I spoke of it to her 
confessor, in order that he might try, softly and art¬ 
fully to reclaim her from it; but instead of profiting 
by her director’s advice, she was outrageous against me # 
My mother-in-law, who could hardly bear the fault of 
intemperance, and had often spoken to me about it, 
now joined in reproaching me and vindicating her. 
This strange creature, when any company came, would 
cry out with all her might, “ that I had dishonored her, 
thrown her into despair, and would be the cause of her 
damnation, as I was taking the ready course to my 
own.” Yet at this time God gave me an unbounded 
patience. I answered only with mildness and charity 
all her passionate invectives, giving her besides every 



150 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


possible mark of my affection. If any other maid came 
to wait on me, she would drive her back in a rage, cry¬ 
ing out, that “ I hated her on account of the affection 
with which she had served my husband.” When she 
had not a mind to come, I was obliged to serve myself; 
and when she did come, it was to chide me and make 
a noise. When I was very unwell, as was often the 
case, this girl would appear to be in despair. From 
hence I thought it was from thee, O Lord, that all 
this came upon me; for without thy permission, she 
was scarcely capable of such unaccountable conduct. 
She seemed not sensible of any faults, but always to 
think herself in the right. All those whom thou hast 
made use of to cause me to suffer, thought they were 
rendering service to thee in so doing. 

Before my husband’s death, I went to Paris on 
purpose to see Monsieur Bertot, who had been of very 
little service to me as a director. Not knowing my 
state, and I being incapable of telling him of it, he 
grew weary of the charge. At length he threw it up, 
and wrote to me to take another director. I made no 
doubt but God had revealed to him my wicked state; 
and this desertion of me seemed a most certain mark 
of my reprobation. This was during the life of my 
husband. But now my renewed solicitations, and his 
sympathy with me on my husband’s death, prevailed 
on him to resume my direction, which to me still 
proved of very little service. I went again to Paris on 
purpose to see him. While there, I visited him 
twelve or fifteen times, without being able to tell him 
anything of my condition. I told him, indeed, that I 
wanted some ecclesiastic to educate my son, to lid him 
of his bad habits, and of the wrong impressions he had 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


151 


conceived against me. He found one for me, of whom 
lie had received very good recommendations. 

I went to make a retreat with M. Bertot and Mad¬ 
ame de C. All that time he spoke to me not a quarter 
of an hour at most. As he saw that I said nothing to 
him, for indeed I knew not what to say, as I had not 
spoken to him of the favors which God had conferred 
on me; (not from a desire to conceal them, but because 
the Lord did not permit me to do it, as he had over 
me only the designs of death;) he therefore spoke to 
such as he looked upon to be more advanced in grace, 
and let me alone as one for whom there was nothing to 
be done. So well did God hide from him the situation 
of my soul, in order to make me suffer, that he wanted 
to refer me to certain considerations, thinking that I 
had not the spirit of prayer, and that Mrs. Granger 
was mistaken when she told him I had. I did what I 
could to obey him, but it was entirely impossible. On 
this account I was displeased with myself, because I 
believed M. Bertot rather than my own experience. 
Through this whole retreat my inclination, which I 
discerned only by my resistance to it, was to rest in 
silence and nakedness of thought; but in the settling 
of my mind therein I feared I was disobeying the 
orders of my director; and this made me think that I 
had fallen from grace. I kept myself in a state of 
nothingness, content with my poor low degree of 
prayer, without envying the higher one of others, 
which I judged myself unworthy of. I would have, 
however, desired much to do the will of God, and to 
please him, but despaired altogether of ever attaining 
that desirable end. 

There was in the place where I lived, and had been 



152 


THE LIFE OF MADAMF GUYON. 


for some years, one whose doctrine was suspected. 
He possessed a dignity in the Church, which always 
obliged me to have a deference for him. As he under¬ 
stood how averse I was to all who were suspected of 
unsoundness in the faith, and knowing that I had some 
credit in the place, he used his utmost efforts to engage 
me in his sentiments. I answered him with so much 
clearness and energy, that he had not a word to reply. 
This increased his desire to win me over, and in order 
to do it, to contract a friendship for me. He con¬ 
tinued to importune me for two years and a half. As 
he was very polite, and of an obliging temper, and had 
a good share of learning, I did not mistrust him, but 
even conceived a hope of his conversion, in which I 
found myself mistaken. I then ceased going near him. 
He came to inquire why he could see me no more. 
At that time he was so agreeable to my sick husband, 
in his assiduities about him, that I could not avoid him 
though I thought the shortest and best way for me 
would be to break off all acquaintance with him, which 
I did after the death of my husband, for M. Bertot 
would not permit me to do it before. Therefore, when 
he now saw that he could not renew it, he and his 
party raised up strong persecutions against me. 

These gentlemen had at that time a method among 
them, by which they soon knew who were of their 
party, and who were opposite. They sent to one 
another circular letters, by means of which, in a very 
little time, they cried me down on every side, after a 
very strange manner. Yet this gave me little trouble. 
I was glad of my new liberty, intending never 
again to enter into an intimacy with anyone, which 
would give me so much difficulty to break off 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUTON. 


153 


This inability I was now in, of doing those exterior 
acts of charity I had done before, served this person 
with a pretext to publish that it was owing to him I 
had formerly done them; and that, having broken off 
from him, I now quitted them. Willing to ascribe to 
himself the merit of what God alone, by his grace, had 
made me do, he went so far as to preach against me 
publicly, as one who had been a bright pattern to the 
town, but was now become a scandal to it Several 
times he preached very offensive things. And though 
I was present at those sermons, and they were enough 
to weigh me down with confusion, for they offended 
all that heard them; I could not be troubled at it, 
for I carried in myself my own condemnation beyond 
utterance. I thought I merited abundantly worse than 
all he could say of me, and that, if all men knew me, 
they would trample me under their feet My reputa¬ 
tion then was blasted by the industry of this ecclesiastic. 
He caused all such as passed for persons of piety to 
declare against me. I thought he and they were in 
the right, and therefore quietly bore it all Confused 
like a criminal that dares not lift up his eyes, I looked 
upon the virtue of others with respect. I saw no fault 
in others, and no virtue in myself. When any hap¬ 
pened to praise me, it was like a heavy blow struck at 
me, and I said in myself, “ They little know my miser¬ 
ies, and from what state I have fallen.” When any 
blamed me, I agreed to it, as right and just Nature 
wanted sometimes to get out of such an abject condi¬ 
tion, but could not find any way. If I tried to make an 
outward appearance of righteousness, by the practice 
of some good thing, my heart in secret rebuked me as 
guilty of hypocrisy, in wanting to appear what I was 



154 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


not; and God did not permit that to succeed- Oh, 
how excellent are the crosses of Providence! AH other 
crosses are of no value. 

I was often very ill and in danger of death, and 
knew not how to prepare myself for it. Several per¬ 
sons of piety, who had been acquainted with me, wrote 
to me about those things which the gentleman (above 
hinted at) spread about me, but I did not offer to 
justify myself, although I knew myself innocent of the 
things whereof they accused me. One day being in 
the greatest desolation and distress, I opened the New 
Testament on these words, “ My grace is sufficient for 
thee, for my strength is made perfect in weakness,”— 
which for a little time gave me some relief. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


155 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

The Lord took from me all the sensibility which I 
had for the creatures, or things created, even in an 
instant, as one takes off a robe, in such sort that after 
that time I had none for any whatsoever. Though he 
had done me that favor, for which I can never be 
sufficiently grateful, I was, however, neither more con¬ 
tented nor less confused by it. My God seemed to be 
so estranged and displeased with me, that there 
remained nothing but the grief of having lost his 
blessed presence through my fault. The loss of my 
reputation every day increasing, (by means of that 
gentleman’s party whom I have mentioned,) became 
more sensible to my heart, though I was not allowed 
to justify or bewail myself. 

As I became always more impotent for every kind 
of exterior works, a3 I could not go to see the poor, nor 
stay at Church, nor practice prayer; and as I became 
colder towards God, in proportion as I was more sensi¬ 
ble of my wrong steps, all this destroyed me the more 
both in my own eyes and in those of others. There were 
in the meantime, some very considerable gentlemen 
who made proposals for me, and even such persons as 
according to the rules of fashion ought not to think of 
me. They presented themselves during the very depth 
of my outward and inward desolation. At first it 
appeared to me a means of drawing me out of the dis¬ 
tress I was in. But it seemed to me then, notwith- 
6 


156 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


standing my pains of body and mind, that if a king 
had presented himself to me, I would have refused 
him with pleasure, to show thee, O my God, that with 
all my miseries I was resolved to be thine alone; and 
that if thou wouldst not accept of me, I should at least 
have the consolation of having been faithful to thee, to 
the utmost of my power. For as to my inward state, 
I never mentioned it to anybody. I never spoke 
thereof, nor of the suitors, though my mother-in-law 
would say, “ If I did not marry, it was because none 
would have me.” It was sufficient for me that thou, 
O my God, knewest that I sacrificed them to thee, (with¬ 
out saying a word to anybody,) especially one whose 
high birth and amiable exterior qualities might have 
tempted both my vanity and inclination. Oh, could I 
but have hoped, through those sacrifices and heavy 
afflictions to become agreeable to thee, such a hope 
would have been like a change from hell to heaven. 
But so far was I from presuming to hope for it, that I 
feared this sea of affliction might also be followed by 
everlasting misery, in the loss of thee. I durst not 
even desire to enjoy thee,—I only desired not to offend 
thee. 

I was for five or six weeks at the last extremity. I 
could not take any nourishment. A spoonfull of broth 
made me faint. My voice was so gone, that when they 
put their ears close to my mouth, they could scarcely 
distinguish my words. I could not see any hope of 
salvation, yet was not unwilling to die, as I bore a 
strong impression that the longer I lived the more I 
would sin. Of the two, I thought I would rather 
choose hell than sin. All the good, which God made 
me do, now seemed to me evil, or full of faulta All 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


157 


my prayers, penances, alms and charities, seemed to 
rise up against me, and heighten my condemnation. 
I thought there appeared on the side of God, on my 
own, and from all creatures, one general condemnation, 
my conscience was a witness against me, which I could 
not appease; yet what may appear strange, the sins of 
my youth did not then give me any pain at all. They 
did not rise up in judgment against me, but there ap¬ 
peared one universal testimony against all the good I 
had done, and all the sentiments of evil I had enter¬ 
tained. If I went to confessors, I could tell them noth¬ 
ing of my condition; and if I could have told them, 
they would not have understood me. They would have 
regarded as eminent virtues, what, O my God, thy 
eyes all pure and chaste rejected as infidelity. It was 
then that I felt the truth of what thou hast said, that 
thou judgest our righteousness. Oh, how pure art 
thou! Who can comprehend it ? It was then that I 
turned my eyes on every side, to see what way succor 
might come to me; but my succor could come no way 
but from him who made heaven and earth. As I saw 
there was no safety for me, or spiritual health in my¬ 
self, I entered into a secret complacency in seeing no 
good in myself whereon to rest, or presume for salva¬ 
tion. The nearer my destruction appeared, the more 
I found in God himself, wherewith to augment my 
trust and confidence, notwithstanding he seemed so 
justly irritated against me. It seemed to me that I had 
in Jesus Christ all that was wanting in myself. Oh, 
Holy Jesus! I was that lost sheep of the House of Is¬ 
rael, whom thou wast come to save: Thou wast come 
to save her who could find no salvation out of thee. 
Oh, ye stout and righteous men! Observe as much as 


158 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


ye please of excellence in what ye have done to the 
glory of God. As for me, I only glory in my infirmi¬ 
ties, since they have merited for me such a Savior! 

All my troubles, joined to the loss of my reputation, 
which yet was not so great as I apprehended, (it being 
only amongst a party) rendered me so unable to eat, 
that it seemed wonderful how I lived. In four days I 
did not eat as much as would make one very moderate 
repast. I was obliged to keep my bed through mere 
weakness, my body being no longer able to support the 
burden laid upon it. If I had thought, known, or 
heard tell, that there had ever been such a state as 
mine, it would have exceedingly relieved me: But my 
very pain appeared to me to be sin. Spiritual books, 
when I tried to read them, all contributed only to aug¬ 
ment it; for I saw in myself none of those states which 
they set down. I did not so much as comprehend 
them. And when they treated of the pains of certain 
states, I was very far from attributing any of them to 
myself. I said to myself, “ These persons feel the pains 
of divine operations; but as to me, I sin, and feel 
nothing but my own wicked state.” I could have 
wished to separate the sin from the confusion of sin, 
and provided I had not offended God, all would have 
been easy to me. 

See here a slight sketch of my last miseries, which I 
am glad to let you know, because in their beginning I 
omitted many infidelities, having had too much of an 
earnest attachment, vain complaisance, unprofitable 
and tedious conversations, though self-love and nature 
made a sort of necessity for them ; but toward the lat¬ 
ter part I could not have borne a speech too h uman, 
nor the least thing of the kind. 


THE LIFE OF MATUMF. GUYON. 


159 


CHAPTEE XXY. 

The first religions person that God made use of to 
draw me to himself, to whom (according to his desire) 
I had written from time to time, wrote to me in the 
depth of my distress, desiring me to write to him no 
more, signifying his disapprobation of what came from 
me, and that I displeased God greatly. A father, a Je¬ 
suit, who had esteemed me much, wrote to me in like 
manner. No doubt, it was by thy permission, they 
thus contributed to complete my desolation. I thanked 
them for their charity, and commended myself to their 
prayers. It was then so indifferent to me to be decried 
of everybody, even of the greatest saints, that it added 
but little to my pain. The pain of displeasing God, 
and the strong propensity I felt in myself to all sorts 
of faults, caused me most lively and sensible pain. 

I had been accustomed from the beginning to dry¬ 
ness and to privation. I even preferred it to the state 
of abounding, because I knew that I must seek God 
above all. I had even, at the first beginnings, an in¬ 
stinct of my inmost soul to pass over every manner oi 
thing whatsoever, and to leave the gifts to run after the 
giver. But at this time my spirit and senses were in 
such a manner struck, by thy permission, O my Lord, 
who wast pleased to destroy me without mercy, that 
the farther I went, the more everything appeared to 
me a sin; even crosses appeared to me no more crosses 
but real faults. I thought I drew them all on myself 




160 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUT ON. 


by my imprudent words and actions. I was like those, 
who, looking through a colored glass, behold every¬ 
thing of the same color with which it is stained. Had 
I been able to perform any exterior acts as formerly, 
or penances for my evil, it would have relieved me ; 
but, I was forbidden to do the latter, beside, I grew so 
timorous, and felt in myself such a weakness, as made 
it appear impossible for me to do them; I looked on 
them with horror, I found myself now so weak and in¬ 
capable of anything of the kind. 

Methinks I omit many things, both of providences 
of the Lord in my favor, and of rugged paths through 
which I was obliged to pass : But as I have only one 
general view, I leave them in the knowledge of the 
Lord only. Afterwards, being forsaken of my director, 
the coldness towards me which I remarked in the per¬ 
sons conducted by him, gave me no more trouble, nor 
inde ed the estrangement of all the creatures, on account 
of my inward humiliation. My brother also joined with 
those who exclaimed against me, even though he had 
never seen them before. I believe it was the Lord who 
conducted things in this way, for my brother has worth, 
and undoubtedly thought he did well in acting thus. 

I was obliged to go about some business to a town 
where some near relations of my mother-in-law lived. 
How did I find things changed here! "When I was 
there before, they entertained me in a most elegant and 
obliging manner, regaling me from house to house with 
emulation : But now they treated me with the utmost 
contempt, saying, they did it to revenge what I made 
their relation suffer. As I saw the thing went so far, 
and that notwithstanding all my care and endeavors to 
please her, I had not been able to succeed, I resolved 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUY0N. 


161 


to come to an explanation with her. I told her, “ that 
there was a current report that I treated her ill, though 
I made it my study to give her every mark of my es¬ 
teem. If the report were true, I desired her to allow 
me to remove from her; for that I would not choose 
to stay to give her pain, but only with a quite con¬ 
trary view.” She answered very coldly, “ I might do 
what I would; for she had not spoken about it, but 
was resolved to live apart from me.” This was fairly 
giving me my discharge, and I thought of taking my 
measures privately to retire. As I had not, since my 
widowhood, made any visits but such as were of pure 
necessity, or charity, there were found too many dis¬ 
contented spirits, who made a party with her against 
me; while the Lord required of me an inviolable 
secrecy of all my pains, both exterior and interior. 
There is nothing which makes nature die so much, as 
to find neither support nor consolation. In short I saw 
myself obliged to go out, in the middle of winter, with 
my children and my daughter’s nurse. At that time 
there was no house empty in the town, hence the Bene¬ 
dictines offered me an apartment in theirs. 

I was now in a great strait; on one side fearing lest 
I was shunning the cross, on the other side thinking it 
unreasonable to impose my stay on one to whom it 
was only painful. Besides what I have related of her 
behavior, which still continued; when I went into the 
country to take a little repose, she complained that I 
left her alone. If I desired her to come thither she 
would not. If I said, “ I durst not ask her to come, 
for fear of incommoding her, by changing her bed,” 
She replied, “ It Was only an excuse, because I would 
not have her go; and that I only went to be away 



162 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


from her.” "When I heard that she was displeased at 
my being in the country, I returned to the town. Then 
she could not bear to speak to me, or to see me. I 
accosted her without appealing to notice how she 
received it; but instead of making me any answer, she 
turned her head another way. I often sent her my 
coach, desiring her to come and spend a day in the 
country. She sent it back empty, without any answer. 
If I passed some days there without sending it, she 
complained aloud. In short, all I did to please her 
soured her, God so permitting it; for she had in the 
main a good heart, but was troubled with an uneasy 
temper: And I do not fail to think myself under much 
obligation to her. 

Being with her on Christmas day, I said to her with 
much affection: “My mother, on this day was the King 
of peace bora, to bring it to us; I beg peace of you in 
his name.” I think that touched her, though she 
would not let it appear. The ecclesiastic, whom I had 
met with at home, far from strengthening and comfort¬ 
ing me, did nothing but weaken and afflict me, telling 
me that I ought not to suffer certain things. I had not 
credit enough to discharge any domestic, however 
defective or culpable. As soon as any of them were 
warned to go away, she sided with them, and all her 
friends interfered in it. As I was ready to go off, one 
of my mother-in-law’s friends, a man of worth, who had 
always an esteem for me, without daring to show it, 
having heard it, was much afraid lest I should leave 
the town; for the removal of my alms, he thought, 
would be a loss to the country. He resolved to speak 
to my mother-in-law, in the softest manner he could; 
for he knew her. After he had spoken to her, she said, 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GTTYON. 


163 


“ Slie would not put me away, but il I went, she would 
not hinder me.” After this he came to see me, and 
desired me to go and make an excuse to her, in order 
to content her. I told him, I should be willing to 
make a hundred, although “I did not know about 
what; that I did it continually about everything, which 
made her uneasy. But that was not now the matter, 
for I make no complaint of her, but thought it not 
proper for me to continue with her, to give her pain; 
that it was but just that I should contribute to her 
ease.” However, he went with me into her room. 
Then I told her, “ That I begged her pardon, if ever I 
had displeased her in anything, that it had never been 
my intention to do it; that I desired her, before this 
gentleman, who was her friend, to tell me wherein I 
had given her any offence.” Here God permitted, that 
she made a declaration of the truth in his presence. 
She said, “ She was not a person to suffer herself to be 
offended; that she had no other complaint against me 
but that I did not love her, and that I wished her 
dead.” I answered her, “That these thoughts were far 
from my heart, so far from it, that I should be glad> 
by my best care and attendance on her, to prolong her 
days; that my affection was real, but that she never 
would be persuaded to believe it, whatever testimonies 
I could give, so long a3 she hearkened to people who 
spoke to her against me: that she had with her a maid, 
who, far from showing me any respect, treated me ill, 
so far as to push me when she wanted to pass by. She 
bad done it at Church, making me give way to her 
with as much violence as contempt, several times, also, 
in my chamber grating me with her words: that I had 
never complained of it, because such a temper might 


164 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


one day give her trouble.” She took the girl’s part. 
Nevertheless we embraced each other, and it was left 
so. Soon after, when I was in the country, this maid, 
having me no more to vent her chagrins on, behaved 
in such a manner to my mother-in-law that she could 
not bear it. She immediately put her out of doors. I 
must say here on my mother-in-law’s behalf, that she 
had both sense and virtue, and except certain faults, 
which persons who do not practice prayer are liable to, 
she had good qualities. Perhaps I caused crosses to 
her without intending it, and she to me without know¬ 
ing it. I hope what I write will not be seen by any 
who may be offended with it, or who may not be in a 
condition to see these matters in God. 

That gentleman who had used me so ill, for break¬ 
ing off my acquaintance with him, among his penitents 
had one who, for affairs which befell her husband, was 
obliged to quit the country. He himself was accused 
of the same things of which he had so liberally and 
unjustly accused me, and even of things much worse, 
and with more noise and outcry. Though I well knew 
all this, God granted me the favor never to make his 
downfall the subject of my discourse; never to open 
my lips about it. On the contrary, when any spoke to 
me of it, I pitied him, and said what I could in mitiga¬ 
tion of his case. And God governed my heart so well, 
that it never offered to go into any vain joy at seeing 
him overtaken, and oppressed, with those kind of evils 
which he had been so assiduous in endeavoring to 
bring upon me. And though I knew that my mother- 
in-law was informed of it all, I never spoke to her 
about it, or about the sad confusions he had caused in 
a certain family. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


165 


CHAPTER XXVI 

One day during my husband’s life-time, laden with 
sorrow, and not knowing what to do, I wished to speak 
to a person of distinction and merit, who came often 
into the country, and passed for one deeply interior. 
I wrote to request an opportunity with him, for that 
I wanted his instruction and advice. But soon after I 
felt remorse for it; and this voice spoke in my heart, 
“"What,—dost thou seek for ease, and to shake off my 
yoke?” Hereupon I instantly sent a note again to 
desire him to excuse me, adding, “That what I had 
written was only from self-love; and not necessity; 
that as he knew what it was to be faithful to God, I 
hoped he would not disapprove my acting with this 
Christian simplicity.” Yet he resented it, which sur¬ 
prised me much, as I had conceived a high idea of his 
virtue. Virtues he has, but such as are full of the life 
and activities of nature, and unacquainted with the 
paths of mortification and death. Thou, O my God, 
hast been my conductor even in these paths, as with 
admiration I have discovered since they are past. 
Blessed be thy name forever. I am obliged to bear 
this testimony to thy goodness. 

Before I continue my narration, I must add one 
remark, which the Lord gave me to make upon the 
way by which he, in his goodness, was pleased to con¬ 
duct me; which is, that this obscure path is the surest 
to mortify the soul, as it leaves it not any prop to lean 


166 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


upon for support. Though it has no application to 
any particular state of Jesus Christ; yet, at its coming 
out, it finds itself clothed with all his dispositions and 
divine states, having truly put on Christ. The impure 
and selfish soul, is hereby purified, as gold in the fur¬ 
nace. Full of its own judgment, and its own will 
before, but now obeys like a child, and finds no other 
will in itself. Before, it would have contested for a 
trifle; now it yields at once, not with reluctance and 
pain, by way of practicing virtue, but as it were natur¬ 
ally. Its own vices are vanished. This creature so 
vain before now loves nothing but poverty, littleness 
and humiliation. Before, it preferred itself above 
everybody, now everybody above itself, having a 
boundless charity for its neighbor, to bear with his 
faults and weaknesses, in order to win him by love, 
which before it could not do but with very great con¬ 
straint. The rage of the wolf is changed to the meek¬ 
ness of the lamb. 

During all the time of my experiencing my miseries 
and my deep trials, I went after no fine sights or 
recreations. When others went, I stayed at home. I 
wanted to see and know nothing but Jesus Christ. My 
closet was my only diversion. Even when the queen 
was near me, whom I had never seen, and whom I had 
desire enough to see; I had only to open my eyes, and 
look out to see her; yet did not do it. I had been 
fond of hearing others sing; and yet I was once four 
days with one who passed for the finest voice in the 
world, without ever desiring her to sing; which sur¬ 
prised her, because she was not ignorant that, knowing 
her name, I must know the charming excellence of her 
voice. However, I committed some infidelities, in 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON 


167 


inquiring what others said of me by way of blame. 
I met with one who told me everything. And though I 
shewed nothing of it, it served only to mortify me, as I 
saw I was yet too much alive to self, and that self-love 
and nature had put me upon this inquiry. 

I shall never be able to express the number of my 
miseries; but they are so vastly surmounted by the 
favors of God, and so swallowed up in these that I can 
see them no more. One of the things which gave me 
most pain in the seven years I have spoken of, especi¬ 
ally the last five, was so strange a folly of my imagina¬ 
tion that it gave me no rest. My senses bore it com¬ 
pany in such sort that I could no more shut my eyes 
at Church. And thus having all the gates and avenues 
open, I was like a vineyard exposed, because the 
hedges which the father of the family had planted were 
tom away. I saw then every one that came and went, 
and everything that passed in the Church. For the 
same force, which had drawn me inward to recollec¬ 
tion, seemed to push me outward to dissipation. 

Laden with miseries of all sorts, weighed down 
with oppressions, and crushed under continual crosses, 
I thought of nothing else but ending my days thus. 
There remained in me not the least hope of ever 
emerging out of so distressing a state. But, notwith¬ 
standing, I thought I had lost grace forever, and the 
salvation which it merits for us, I longed at least to do 
what I could for God, though I feared I should never 
love him; and seeing the happy state from whence I 
had fallen, I wished in gratitude to serve him, though 
I looked on myself as a victim doomed to destruction. 
Sometimes the view of that happy period caused secret 
desires to spring up in my heart, of recovering it 


168 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


again; but I was instantly rejected and thrown back 
into the depth of the abyss, from whence I could 
scarcely utter a sigh; I judged myself to be in a state 
which was due to unfaithful souls. I seemed, O my 
God, as if I was forever cast off from thy regard, and 
from that of all creatures. By degrees my state ceased 
to be painful. I became even insensible to it, and my 
insensibility seemed like the final hardening of my 
reprobation. My coldness appeared to me a mortal 
coldness. And it was truly so, O my God, since I thus 
died to self, in order to live wholly in thee, and in thy 
precious love, as I am going to relate. 

To resume then my history, a servant of mine 
wanted to become a Bamabite. I wrote about it to 
Father de la Mothe; he answered me, that I must 
address Father La Combe, who was then the superior 
of the Barnabites of Tonon. That obliged me to write 
to him. I had always preserved secret respect and 
esteem for him, as one under grace. I was glad of 
this opportunity of recommending myself to his pray¬ 
ers. I wrote to him about my fall from the grace of 
God, and that I had requited his favors with the black¬ 
est ingratitude; that I was miserable, and a subject 
worthy of compassion; and that, far from having 
advanced towards God, I was become entirely alienated 
from him. He answered me in such a manner, as if he 
had known, by a supernatural light, notwithstanding 
the frightful description I had given of myself, that my 
condition was of grace. But I could not then believe it. 

In the midst of my miseries, Geneva came into my 
mind, in a singular manner, which caused me many 
fears. “What,”,said I, “to complete my reprobation, 
shall I go to such an excess of impiety, as to quit the 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


169 


faith through apostacy ? (The inhabitants of Geneva 
being generally Protestant Calvinists.) Am I then 
about quitting that Church, for which I would give a 
thousand lives? Or, shall I ever depart from that 
faith which I would even wish to seal with my blood ?” 
I had such a distrust of myself, that I durst hope for 
nothing, but had a thousand reasons for fear, after the 
experience I had of my weakness. Nevertheless the 
letter, which I had received from Father La Combe, in 
which he wrote me an account of his present disposi¬ 
tion, somewhat similar to mine, had such an effect, as 
to restore peace and calmness to my mind. I felt 
myself inwardly united to him, as to a person of great 
fidelity to the grace of God. Afterwards a woman 
appeared to me in a dream to be come down from 
heaven, to tell me that God demanded me at Geneva 
About eight or ten days before Magdalene’s day, 
1680, it came into my mind to write to Father La 
Combe, and to request him, if he received my letter 
before that day, to pray particularly for me. And it 
was so ordered, contrary even to my expectations, that 
he received my letter on St. Magdalene's eve, and when 
praying for me the next day, it was said to him, thrice 
over, with much power, “ Ye shall both dwell in one 
and the same place.” He was very much surprised, as 
he never had received interior words before. I believe, 
O my God that that has been much more verified, both 
in our inward sense and experience, and in the same 
crucifying events which have befallen us, pretty much 
alike; and in thyself, who art our dwelling, than in any 
temporal abode. 


170 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUTON. 


CHAPTER XXYTL 

On that happy Magdalene’s day my soul was per¬ 
fectly delivered from all its pains. It had already begun 
since the receipt of the first letter from Father La 
Combe, to recover a new life. It was then indeed only 
like that of a dead person raised, though not yet 
unbound from his grave-clothes. But on this day I 
was, as it were, in perfect life, and set wholly at liberty. 
I then found myself as much raised above nature, as 
before I had been depressed under its burden. I was 
inexpressibly overjoyed to find him, whom I thought I 
had lost forever, returned to me again with unspeak¬ 
able magnificence and purity. It was then, O my God, 
that I found again in thee with new advantages, in an 
ineffable manner, all I had been deprived of; and the 
peace I now possessed was all holy, heavenly and inex¬ 
pressible; all I had enjoyed before was only a peace, 
a gift of God, but now I received and possessed the 
God of peace. Yet the remembrance of my past mis¬ 
eries still brought a fear upon me, lest nature should 
find means to take to itself any pail therein. As soon 
as it wanted to see or taste anything, the Spirit ever 
watchful crossed and repelled it. I was far from eleva¬ 
ting myself then, or attributing to myself anything of 
this new state; for my experience made me sensible of 
what I was. 

I hoped I should enjoy this happy state for some 
time, but little did I think my happiness so great and 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


171 


immutable as it was. If one may judge of a good by 
the trouble which precedes it, I leave mine to be 
judged of by the sorrows I had undergone before my 
attaining it. The Apostle Paul tells us, that “ the suf¬ 
ferings of this life are not to be compared with the glory 
that is prepared for us/’ How true is that even of this 
life ? One day of this happiness was worth more than 
years of suffering. It was, indeed, at that time well 
worth all I had undergone, though it was then only 
dawning. An alacrity for doing good was restored to 
me, greater than ever. It seemed to me all quiet, free 
and natural to me. At the beginning, this liberty was 
less extensive; but as I advanced it grew still greater. 
I had occasion to see Mon. Bertot for a few moments, 
and told him, I thought my state much changed, hav¬ 
ing scarcely time to tell him any more. He, seemingly 
attentive to something else, answered, “No.” I be¬ 
lieved him; for grace taught me to prefer the judg¬ 
ment of others, and rather believe them than my own 
opinions or experience. This did not give me any 
kind of trouble; for every state seemed equally indif¬ 
ferent if I only had the favor of God. I felt a kind of 
beatitude every day increasing in me. I did all sorts 
of good, without selfishness or premeditation. When¬ 
ever a self-reflective thought was presented to my 
mind, it was instantly rejected, and as it were a curtain 
in the soul drawn before it. My imagination was kept 
so fixed, that I had now very little trouble on that 
head. I wondered at the clearness of my mind and 
the purity of my whole heart. 

I received a letter from Father La Combe, wherein 
he wrote that God had discovered to him that he had 
great designs in regard to me. “Let them be,” then 


172 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


said I to myself, “either of justice or mercy, all is 
equal to me.” I still had Geneva deeply at heart; but 
said nothing of it to anybody, waiting for God to make 
known to me his all powerful will, and fearing lest any 
stratagem of the devil should be concealed therein, 
that might tend to draw me out of my proper place, or 
steal me out of my condition. The more I saw my 
own misery, incapacity and nothingness, the plainer it 
appeared that they rendered me fitter for the designs 
of God, whatever they might be. “Oh, my Lord,” 
said I, “take the weak and the wretched to do thy 
works, that thou mayest have all the glory of them, 
and that man may attribute nothing of them to him¬ 
self. If thou shouldst take a person of eminence and 
great talents, one might attribute to him something 
thereof; but if thou takest me, it will be manifest that 
thou alone art the author of whatever good shall be 
done.” I continued quiet in my spirit, leaving the 
whole affair to God, being satisfied, if he should re¬ 
quire anything of me, that he would furnish me with 
the means of performing it. I held myself in readiness 
with a full resolution to execute his orders, whenever 
he should make them known, though it were to the 
laying down of my life. I was released from all crosses. 
I resumed my care of the sick, and dressing of wounds, 
and God gave me to cure the most desperate. When 
surgeons could do no more, or were going to cut off 
limbs, it was then that God made me cure them. 

Oh, the joy that accompanied me everywhere, find¬ 
ing still him who had united me to himself, in his own 
immensity and boundless vastitude! Oh, how truly 
did I experience what he said in the Gospel, by the 
four Evangelists, and by one of them twice over, “Who- 


THE LIFE OF MADAME v*UYON. 


173 


soever will lose liis life for my sake shall find it; and 
whosoever will save his life shall lose it.” 

When I had lost all created supports, and even 
divine ones, I then found myself happily compelled to 
fall into the pure divine, and to fall into it through all 
those very things which seemed to remove me further 
from it. In losing all the gifts, with all their supports, 
I found the Giver. In losing the sense and perception 
of thee in myself—I found thee, 0 my God, to lose 
thee no more in thyself, in thy own immutability. Oh, 
poor creatures, who pass all your time in feeding upon 
the gifts of God, and think therein to be the most 
favored and happy, how I pity you if you stop here* 
short of the true rest, and cease to go forward to God 
himself, through the loss of those cherished gifts 
which you now delight in. How many pass all their 
lives in this way, and think highly of themselves there¬ 
in ! There are others who being called of God to die 
to themselves, yet pass all their time in a dying life, 
and in inward agonies, without ever entering into God, 
through death and a total loss of self, because they are 
always willing to retain something under plausible 
pretexts, and so never lose themselves to the whole 
extent of the designs of God. Wherefore, they never 
enjoy God in all his fulness; which is a loss that cannot 
be perfectly known in this life. 

Oh, my Lord, what happiness did I not largely 
taste in my solitude, and with my little family, where 
nothing interrupted my tranquillity! As I was in the 
country, and the slender age of my children did not 
require my application too much, they being in good 
hands, I retired a great part of the day into a wood, 
where I passed as many days of happiness as I had 


174 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


had months of sorrow. Thou, O my God, dealt by me 
as by thy servant Job, rendering me double for all 
thou hadst taken from me, and delivering me from all 
my crosses. Thou gavest me a marvellous facility to 
satisfy everyone. What was surprising now, was that 
my mother-in-law, who had ever been complaining of 
me, without my doing anything more than usual to 
please her, declared now that none could be better 
satisfied with me than she was. Such as before had 
cried me down the most, now testified their sorrow for 
it, and became full of my praises. My reputation was 
established with much more advantage, in proportion 
as it had appeared to be lost. I remained in an entire 
peace, as well without as within. It seemed to me that 
my soul was become like that New Jerusalem, spoken 
of in the Apocalypse, prepared as a bride for her hus¬ 
band, and where there is no more sorrow, or sighing. 
I had a perfect indifference to everything that is here, 
and an union so great with the good will of God, that 
my own will seemed entirely lost. My soul could not 
incline itself on one side or the other, since another 
will had taken the place of its own, but only nourished 
itself with the daily providences of God. It now found 
a will all divine, which yet was so natural and easy to 
it, that it found itself infinitely more free in this than 
ever it had been in its own. 

These dispositions have still subsisted, and still 
grown stronger, and more perfect even to this hour. 
I could neither desire one thing nor another, but was 
content with whatever fell out, without making any 
reflection thereupon, or giving any attention thereto, 
except when any in the house asked me, “Will you 
have this, or that?” And then I was surprised to 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


175 


find that there was nothing left in me which could 
desire or choose. I was as if everything, of smaller 
matters, quite disappeared, a higher power having 
taken up and filled all their room. I even perceived 
no more that soul which he had formerly conducted 
by his crook and his staff, because now he alone 
appeared to me, my soul having given up its place to 
him. It seemed to me, as if it was wholly and alto¬ 
gether passed into its God, to make but one and the 
same thing with him; even as a little drop of water, 
cast into the sea, receives the qualities of the sea. Oh, 
union of unity, demanded of God by Jesus Christ for 
men, and merited by him! How strong is this in a 
soul that is become lost in its God! After the con¬ 
summation of this divine unity, the soul remains hid 
with Christ in God. This happy loss is not like those 
transient ones which ecstacy operates, which are rather 
an absorption than union, for the soul afterwards finds 
itself again with all its own dispositions. But here she 
feels that prayer fulfilled—John xvii. 21: “That they 
all may be one as thou Father art in me, and I in thee; 
that they also may be one in us.” 


176 


THE UFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


CHAPTER XXVIEL 

I was obliged to go to Paris about some business. 
Having entered into a Church, that was very dark, I 
went up to the first confessor I found, whom I did not 
know, nor have ever seen since. I made a simple and 
short confession; but to the confessor himself I said 
not a word. He surprised me much in saying, “ I 
know not who you are, whether maid, wife or widow; 
but I feel a strong inward motion to exhort you to do 
what the Lord has made known to you, that he requires 
of you. I have nothing else to say.” I answered him, 
“Father, I am a widow who have little children. 
What else could God require of me, but to take due 
care of them in their education?” He replied, “I 
know nothing about this. You know if God manifests 
to you that he requires something of you; there is 
nothing in the world which ought to hinder you from 
doing his will. One may have to leave one’s children 
to do that” This surprised me much. However, I 
told him nothing of what I felt for Geneva. I disposed 
myself submissively to quit everything, if the Lord 
required it of me. I did not look upon it as a good I 
aspired to, or a virtue I hoped to acquire, or as any¬ 
thing extraordinary, or as an act that would merit some 
return on God’s part; but only gave myself up to be 
led in the way of my duty, whatever it might be, feel¬ 
ing no distinction between my own will and the will of 
God in me. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


177 


In this disposition, I lived with my family in the 
greatest tranquillity, until one of my friends had a great 
desire to go on a mission to Siam. He lived twenty 
leagues from my house. As he was ready to make a 
vow to this purpose, he found himself stopped, with an 
impulse to come and speak to me. He came immedi¬ 
ately, and as he had some reluctance to declare his mind 
to me, he went to read prayers in my chapel, hoping 
God would he satisfied with his making the vow, but 
as he was performing divine service in my hearing, he 
was stopped again. Whereupon he left the chapel to 
come and speak to me. He then told me his inten¬ 
tion. 

Though I had no thought of saying anything posi¬ 
tive to him on that head, I felt an impression in my 
soul to relate to him my case, and the idea I had for a 
long time past for Geneva. I told him a dream I had, 
which appeared to me supernatural, and had reference 
hereto, and when I had done, I felt a strong impulse to 
say to him, “Youmust go to Siam; and you must also 
serve me in this affair. It is for that end God has sent 
you hither; I desire you to give me your advice.” 
After three days, having considered the matter, and 
consulted the Lord in it, he told me that he believed I 
was to go thither; but to be the better assured of it, it 
would be needful to see the Bishop of Geneva; that if 
he approved of my design, it would be a sign that it 
was from the Lord; if not, I must drop it. I fell in 
with his sentiment. He then offered to go to Annecy, 
to speak to the Bishop, and to bring me a faithful 
account of what they should agree on together. As he 
was advanced in years, we were deliberating in what 
way he could take so long a journey, when there came 


178 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


two travellers, who told us the Bishop was at Paris. 
This I looked on as an extraordinary providence. He 
advised me to write to Father La Combe, and recom¬ 
mend the affair to his prayers, as he was in that 
country. He then spoke to the Bishop at Paris; and 
I, having occasion to go thither, spoke to him also. 

I told him, “ that my design was to go into the 
country, to employ there my substance, to erect an 
establishment for all such as should be willing truly to 
serve God, and to give themselves unto him without 
reserve; and that many of the servants of the Lord had 
encouraged me thereto.” The bishop approved of the 
design. He said, “there were New Catholics going to 
establish themselves at Gex, near Geneva, and that it 
was a providential thing. I answered him, “ that I had 
no vocation for Gex, but for Geneva.” He said, “ I 
might go from hence to that city.” 

I thought this was a way which divine Providence 
had opened, for my taking this journey with the less 
difficulty. And as I yet knew nothing positive of what 
the Lord would require at my hand, I was not willing 
to oppose anything. “Who knows,” said I, “but the 
will of the Lord is only that I should contribute to 
this establishment ?” 

I went to see the prioress of the New Catholics at 
Paris. She seemed much rejoiced, and assured me she 
would gladly join me. As she is a great servant of 
God, this confirmed me. For when I could reflect a 
little, which was but seldom, I thought God would 
make choice of her for her virtue, and me for my 
worldly substance; for when I inadvertantly looked at 
myself, I could not think God would make use of me; 
but when I saw the things in God, then I perceived 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUY0N. 


179 


that the more I was nothing, the fitter I was for his 
designs. As I saw nothing in myself extraordinary, 
and looked on myself as being in the lowest stage of 
perfection, and imagined that an extraordinary degree 
of inspiration was necessary for extraordinary designs, 
this made me hesitate, and fear deception. I did not 
yet sufficiently comprehend, that to follow, step by 
step, the guidance of divine Providence was the great¬ 
est and purest light. It was not that I was in fear of 
anything, as to my perfection and salvation which I had 
referred to God; but I was afraid of not doing his will 
by being too ardent and hasty in doing it. I went to 
consult Father Claude Martin. At that time he gave 
me no decisive answer, demanding time to pray about 
it; saying he would write to me what should appear to 
him to be the will of God concerning me. 

I found it hard to get to speak to M. Bertot, both 
on account of his being difficult of access, and of my 
knowing how he condemned things extraordinary, or 
out of the common road, beside his never having given 
me the least help in regard to my inward leadings. 
Yet, being my director, I submitted, against my own 
views or judgment, to what he said, laying down all my 
own experiences when duty required me to believe and 
obey. I thought, however, that in an affair of this 
importance, I ought to address myself to him, and pre¬ 
fer his sense of the matter to that of every one beside, 
persuaded, he would infallibly tell me the will of God. 
I went to him then, and he told me that my design was 
of God, and that he had had a sense given him of God 
for some time past, that he required something of me. 
I therefore returned home to set everything in order. 
I loved my children much, having great satisfaction in 


180 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


being with them, but resigned all to God to follow his 
will. 

On my return from Paris, I left myself in the hands 
of God, resolved not to take any step, either to make 
the thing succeed or to hinder it, either to advance or 
retard it, but singly to move as he should be pleased 
to direct me. I had mysterious dreams, which por¬ 
tended nothing but crosses, persecutions and afflictions. 
My heart submitted to whatever it should please God 
to ordain. I had one which was very significant. 

Being employed in some necessary work, I saw near 
me a little animal which appeared to be dead. This 
animal I took to be the envy of some persons, which 
seemed to have been dead for some time. I took it 
up, and as I saw it strove hard to bite me, and that it 
magnified to the view of the eye, I cast it away; but 
found thereupon that it filled my fingers with sharp- 
pointed prickles like needles. I came to one of my 
acquaintance to get him to take them out; but he 
pushed them deeper in, and left me so, till a charitable 
priest, of great merit, (whose countenance is still pre¬ 
sent with me, though I have not yet seen him, but 
believe I shall before I die) took this animal up with a 
pair of pincers. As soon as he held it fast, those sharp 
prickles fell off, of themselves. Then I found that I 
easily entered into a place, which before had seemed 
inaccessible. And although the mire was up to my 
girdle, in my way to a deserted Church, I went over it, 
without getting any dirt. It will be easy to see in the 
sequel what this signified. 

Doubtless you will wonder that I, who make so little 
account of things extraordinary, relate dreams. I do 
it for two reasons; first, out of fidelity, having prom- 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


181 


ised to omit nothing of what should come into my 
mind; secondly, because it is the method God makes 
use of to communicate himself to faithful souls, to give 
them foretokens of things to come, which concern 
them. Thus mysterious dreams are found in many 
places of the holy Scriptures. They have singular 
properties, as— 

1st. To leave a certainty that they are mysterious, 
and will have their effect in their season; 

2d. To be hardly ever effaced out of the memory, 
though one forgets all others; 

3d. To redouble the certainty of their truth every 
time one thinks of them; and 

4th. They generally leave a certain unction, a divine 
sense or savor at one’s waking. 

I received letters from sundry religious persons, 
some of whom lived far from me, and from one another, 
relating to my going forth in the service of God, and 
some of them to Geneva in particular, in such a man¬ 
ner as surprised me. One of them intimated that I 
must there bear the cross and be persecuted; and 
another of them that I should be eyes to the blind, feet 
to the lame, and arms to the maimed. 

The ecclesiastic, or chaplain, of our house was much 
afraid lest I was under a delusion; but what at that 
time greatly confirmed me was that Father Claude 
Martin, whom I mentioned above, wrote to me that, after 
many prayers, the Lord had given him to know that 
he required me at Geneva, and to make a free sacrifice 
of everthing to him. I answered him, “ that perhaps 
the Lord required of me nothing more than a sum of 
money to assist in founding an institution which was 
going to be established there.” He replied, that the 


182 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUTON. 


Lord had made him know that he wanted not my 
worldly substance but myself. At the very same time 
with this letter I received one from Father La Combe, 
who wrote to me that the Lord had given him a cer¬ 
tainty, as he had done to several of his good and faith¬ 
ful servants and hand-maids, that he wanted me at 
Geneva. The writers of these two letters lived above a 
hundred and fifty leagues from each other; and yet 
both wrote the same thing. I could not but be some¬ 
what surprised to receive at the same time two letters 
so exactly alike, from two persons living so far distant 
from each other. 

As soon as I became fully convinced of its being the 
will of the Lord, and saw nothing on earth capable of 
detaining me, my senses had some pain about leaving 
my children. And upon reflecting thereon a doubt 
seized my mind. O my Lord! Had I rested on 
myself, or on the creatures, I would have revolted; and 
“ leaned on a broken reed, which would have pierced 
my hand.” But relying on thee alone, what needed I 
to fear? I resolved then to go, regardless of the cen¬ 
sures of such as understand not what it is to be a ser¬ 
vant of the Lord, and to receive and obey his orders. 
I firmly believed that he, by his Providence, would 
furnish the means necessary for the education of my 
children. I put everything by degrees in order, the 
Lord alone being my guide. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUY0N. 


183 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Whilst providence, on the one hand, appointed my 
forsaking all things, it seemed on the other to make my 
chains the stronger, and my separation the more blame- 
able; for none could receive stronger marks of affecion 
from an own mother than those which I received at 
this time from my mother-in-law; even the least sick¬ 
ness which befell me made her very uneasy. She said, 
“she had veneration for my virtue.” I believe what 
contributed not a little to this change was, that she had 
heard that three persons had offered suit to me, and 
that I had refused them, although their fortune and 
quality were quite superior to mine. She remembered 
how she had upbraided me on this head, and I 
answered her not a word, whereby she might under¬ 
stand that it depended on myself to marry to advan¬ 
tage. She began to fear lest such rigorous treatment, 
as hers had been towards me, might excite me to 
deliver myself by such means, with honor, from her 
tyranny, and was sensible what damage that might be 
to my children. So she was now very tender to me on 
every occasion. 

I fell extremely ill. I thought that God had accept¬ 
ed of my willingness to sacrifice all to him, and required 
that of my life. During this illness, my mother-in-law 
went not from my bedside; her many tears proved the 
sincerity of her affection. I was very much affected at 
it, and thought I loved her as my true mother. How, 


184 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


then, should I leave her now, being so far advanced in 
age? The maid, who till then had been my plague, 
took an inconceivable friendship for me. She praised 
me everywhere, extolling my virtue to the highest; and 
served me with extraordinary respect. She begged 
pardon for all that she had made me suffer, and died 
of grief after my departure. 

There was a priest of merit, a spiritual man, who 
had fallen in with a temptation of taking upon him 
employment which I was sensible God did not call 
him to; and therefore, fearing it might be a snare to 
him, I advised him against it. He promised me he 
would not do it, and yet accepted it. He then avoided 
me, joined secretly in calumniating me, gradually fell 
away from grace, and died soon after. 

There was a nun in a monastery I often went to, 
who was entered into a state of purification, which 
everyone in the house looked on as distraction; and 
therefore they locked her up, which had like to have 
destroyed her. All that went to see her called it 
phrenzy or melancholly. I knew her to be devout 
I requested to see her. As soon as I approached, ] 
felt an impression that she sought purity. I desired 
of the Superior that she should not be locked up, noi 
should people be admitted to see her, but that she 
would confide her to my care; for I hoped things 
would change. I discovered that her greatest pain 
was at being counted a fool I advised her to bear the 
state of foolishness, since Jesus Christ had been willing 
to bear it before Herod. This sacrifice gave her a 
calmness at once. But as God was willing to purify 
her soul, he separated her from all those things for 
which she had before the greatest attachment. At last, 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON 


185 


after she had patiently undergone her sufferings, her 
Superior wrote to me “that I was in the right, and 
that she had now come out of that state of dejection, 
in greater purity than ever.” The Lord gave to me 
alone at that time to know her state. This was the 
commencement of the gift of discerning spirits, which 
I afterwards received more fully. 

The winter before I left home was one of the long¬ 
est and hardest that had been for several years, viz., 
that of 1680. It was followed with extreme scarcity, 
which proved to me an occasion of exercising charity. 
My mother-in-law joined me heartily herein, and 
appeared to me so much changed, that I could not but 
be both surprised, and overjoyed at it. We distributed 
at the house ninety-six dozen loaves of bread every 
week, but the private charities to the bashful poor 
were much greater. I kept poor boys and girls 
employed at work. And the Lord gave such blessings 
to my alms, that I did not find that my family lost 
anything by it. Before the death of my husband, my 
mother-in-law told him, that I would min him with my 
charities, though he himself was so charitable, that in 
a very dear year, while he was young, he distributed a 
considerable sum; but now she repeated this to him so 
often, that he commanded me to set down in writing 
all the money I laid out, both what I gave for the 
expense of the house, and all that I caused to be 
bought, that from thence he might better judge of 
what I gave to the poor. This new obligation, which I 
was brought under, appeared to me so much the 
harder, as for above eleven years we had been married 
I never before had this required of me. What troubled 
me most was the fear of having nothing to give to such 


186 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


as wanted. However, I submitted to it, without 
retrenching any part of my charities. I did not indeed 
set down any of my alms, and yet my account of 
expenses was found to answer exactly. I was much 
surprised and astonished at it, and esteemed it one of 
the wonders of Providence, for I saw plainly it was 
simply given out of thy treasury, 0 my Lord, that 
made me more liberal of what I thought was the 
Lord’s, and not mine. Oh, if we but knew how far 
charity, instead of wasting or lessening the substance 
of the donor, blessed, increased and multiplied it pro¬ 
fusely; how much is there in the world of useless dissi¬ 
pation, which, if properly applied, might amply serve 
for the subsistence of the poor, and would abundantly 
be restored, and amply rewarded to the families of 
those who gave it. 

In the time of my greatest trials, some years after 
my husband’s death (for they begun three years before 
my widowhood, and lasted four years after) my foot¬ 
man came one day to tell me, for I was then in the 
country, that there was in the road a poor soldier 
dying. I had him brought in, and ordering a separate 
place to be made ready for him, I kept him above a 
fortnight His malady was a flux, which he had taken 
in the army. It was so nauseous, that though the 
domestics were charitably inclined, nobody could bear 
to come near him. I went myself to take away his 
vessels. But I never did anything of the kind which 
was so hard to me. When I emptied them, there was 
such an intolerable stench, that I was ready to faint. 
I frequently made efforts for a full quarter of an hour 
at a time. It seemed as if my very heart was going to 
come up; yet I never desisted from doing it. I some- 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


187 


times kept poor people at my house to dress their most 
putrid sores; but never met with anything so terrible 
as this. So the poor man, after I had made him 
receive the sacrament, died. 

What gave me now no small concern was the tender¬ 
ness I had for my children, especially my younger son, 
whom I had strong reasons for loving. I saw him 
inclined to be good; and everything seemed to favor 
the hopes I had conceived of him. I thought it run¬ 
ning a great risk to leave him to another’s education. 
My daughter I designed to take with me, though she 
was at this time ill of a very tedious fever. Providence 
was pleased, however, so to order it that she speedily 
recovered. The ties, with which the Lord held me 
closely united to himself, were infinitely stronger than 
those of flesh and blood. The laws of my sacred mar¬ 
riage obliged me to give up all, to follow my spouse 
whithersoever it was his pleasure to call me after him. 
Though I often hesitated, and doubted much before I 
went, I never doubted after my going off, of its being 
his will; and though men, who judge of things only 
according to the success they seem to have, have taken 
occasion from my disgraces and sufferings, to judge of 
my c allin g, and to run it down as error, illusion and 
imagination; it is that very persecution, and the multi¬ 
tude of strange crosses it has drawn upon me, (of 
which this imprisonment I now suffer is one,) which 
have confirmed me in the certainty of its truth and 
validity; nay, I am more than ever convinced that the 
resignation which I have made of everything is in pure 
obedience to the divine will. The gospel effectually in 
this point shows itself to be true, which has promised 
to those that shall leave all for the love of the Lord, 
6 


188 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


“ an hundred fold in this life, and persecutions also.’* 
And have not I infinitely more than an hundred fold, 
in so entire a possession as thou, my Lord, hast taken 
of me; in that unshaken firmness which thou givest me 
in my sufferings, in a perfect tranquillity in the midst 
of a furious tempest, which assaults me on every side; 
in an unspeakable joy, enlargedness and liberty which 
I enjoy in a most straight and rigorous captivity. J 
have no desire that my imprisonment should end 
before the right time. I love my chains. Everything 
is equal to me, as I have no will of my own, but purely 
the love and will of him who possesses me. My senses 
indeed have not any relish for such things, but my 
heart is separated from them, and borne over them; 
and my perseverance is not of myself, but of him who 
is my life; so that I can say with the apostle, “It is no 
more I that live, but Jesus Christ that liveth in me. It 
is he in whom I five, move, and have my being.” 

To return to the subject, from which I often wander 
without reflection. I say then that I was not so reluc¬ 
tant to go with the New Catholics, as I was to engage 
with them, not finding a sufficient attraction, though I 
sought for it. I longed indeed to contribute to the 
conversion of wandering souls, and God made use of 
me to convert several families before my departure, 
one of which was composed of eleven or twelve per¬ 
sons. Besides, Father La Combe had written to me, 
to make use of this opportunity for setting off, but did 
not tell me whether I ought to engage with them or 
not. Thus it was the Providence of my God alone, 
which ordered everything, to which I was resigned 
without any reserve; and that hindered me from 
engaging with them. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


189 


One day, through infidelity, reflecting humanly on 
this undertaking of mine, I found my faith staggering, 
weakened with a fear lest I were under a mistake, 
which slavish fear was increased by an ecclesiastic at 
our house, who told me it was a rash and ill-advised 
design. Being a little discouraged, I opened the Bible, 
and at first met with this passage in Isaiah, “ Fear not 
thou worm Jacob, and ye men of Israel. I will help 
thee saith the Lord, and thy Redeemer, the holy one of 
Israel.” Chap. lxi. 14, and near it, “Fear not; for I 
have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; 
thou art mine. When thou passest through the waters, 
I will be with thee,” &c. 

I had a very great courage given me for going, but 
could not persuade myself that it would be best to set¬ 
tle with the New Catholics. It was, however, neces¬ 
sary to see Sister Gamier, their superior at Paris, in 
order to take our measures together. But I could not 
go to Paris, because that journey would have hindered 
me from taking another, which I had to take. She 
then, though much indisposed, resolved to come and 
see me. In what a wonderful manner, O my God, 
didst thou conduct things by thy Providence, to make 
everything come to the point of thy will! Every day 
I saw new miracles, which both amazed and still more 
confirmed me; for with a paternal goodness thou took- 
est care of even the smallest things. As she intended 
setting off, she fell sick. And thou permitted it to fall 
out so, to give room thereby for a person, who would 
have discovered everything, in the meantime to take a 
journey to see me. As this person had given me notice 
of the day she intended to set off, seeing that day was 
excessively hot, and so sultry that I imagined, that 


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THE LIFE OF WAD A ATP, QTJYON. 


being taken so much tender care of as she was at home, 
they would not suffer her to begin her journey then, 
(which really proved to be the case, as she afterwards 
told me,) I prayed to the Lord to be pleased to grant a 
wind to rise, to moderate the violent heat Scarce had 
I prayed, but there arose suddenly so refreshing a 
wind, that I was surprised at it; and the wind did not 
cease during her whole journey. 

I went to meet her, and brought her to my country- 
house, in such a way that she was not seen or known of 
anybody. What embarrassed me a little was, that two 
of my domestics knew her. But as I was then endeav¬ 
oring the conversion of a lady, they thought that it was 
on this account I had sent for her, and that it was 
necessary to keep it secret, that the other lady might 
not be discouraged from coming. Though I knew 
nothing of controversial points, yet God so furnished 
me that I did not fail to answer all her objections, and 
resolve all her doubts, to such a degree, that she could 
not but give herself up entirely to God. Though Sis¬ 
ter Gamier had a good share both of grace and natural 
understanding, yet her words had not such an effect on 
this soul as those with which God furnished me, as she 
assured me herself. She even could not forbear speak¬ 
ing of it. I felt a movement to beg her of God, as a 
testimony of liis holy will concerning me; but he was 
pleased not to grant it then, being willing that I should 
go off alone without any other assurance, than that his 
divine Providence was conducting all things. Sister 
Gamier did not declare her thoughts to me for four 
days. Then she told me she would not go with me. 
At this I was the more surprised, as I had persuaded 
myself that God would grant to her virtue what he 


THE LIFE OF MADATVfP 1 . GUYON. 


191 


might refuse to my demerits. Besides, the reasons 
she gave appeared to me to be merely human, and void 
of supernatural grace. That made me hesitate a little; 
then, taking new courage, through the resignation of 
my whole self, I said, “ As I go not thither for your 
sake, I will not fail to go even without you.” This 
surprised her, as she owned to me; for she thought 
that, on her refusal, I would decline my purpose of 
going. , 

I regulated everything, wrote down the contract of 
association with them as I thought proper. No sooner 
had I done it, but I felt great perturbation and trouble 
of mind for it I told her my pain, and that I had no 
doubt but the Lord demanded me at Geneva, yet did 
not let me see that he would have me to be of their 
congregation. She desired to have some time till after 
prayers and communion, and that then she would tell 
me what she thought the Lord required of me. 
Accordingly, he directed her contrary both to her inter¬ 
ests and inclination. She then told me, “I ought not 
to connect myself with her, that it was not the Lord’s 
design; that I only ought to go with her sisters, and 
that when I should be there, Father La Combe, (whose 
letter she had seen) would signify to me the divine 
will.” I entered at once into these sentiments, and 
my soul then regained the sweets of inward peace. 

My first thought had been (before I heard of the 
New Catholics going to Gex) to go directly to Geneva, 
as at this time there were Catholics there in service, 
and otherwise; and to take some little room without 
any noise, and without declaring myself at first; and as 
I knew how to make up all sorts of ointments to heal 
wounds and especially the king’s evil, of which there is 


192 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


abundance in that place, and for which I had a most 
certain cure, I hoped easily to insinuate myself by this 
way; and with the charities which I should have done 
to have won over many of the people. I have no 
doubt but, if I had followed this impulse, things would 
have succeeded better. But I thought I ought to fol¬ 
low the sentiments of the Bishop rather than my own. 
What am I saying? Has not thy eternal Word, O my 
Lord, had its effect and accomplishment in me ? Man 
speaks as man; but when we behold things in the Lord, 
we see them in another light. Yes, my Lord, thy 
design was to give Geneva not to my cares, words or 
works, but to my sufferings; for the more I see things 
appear hopeless, the more do I hope for the conversion 
of that city by a way known to thee only. 

Father La Combe has told me since, that he had a 
strong impulse to write to me, not to engage with the 
New Catholics; that he believed it not to be the will of 
the Lord concerning me; but he omitted doing it. As 
to my director, M. Bertot, he died four months before 
my departure. I had some intimations of his death, 
and it seemed as if he bequeathed me a portion of his 
spirit to help his children. 

I was seized with a fear, that the check I had felt, 
at giving so largely in favor of the New Catholics, what 
I had designed for Geneva, was a stratagem of nature, 
which does not love to be stripped. I wrote to Sister 
Gamier to get a contract drawn up according to my 
first memorial. God permitted me to commit this 
fault, to make me the more sensible of his protection 
over me. 

END OF THE FTRST PART. 


MADAME GUYON. 


PART TWO. 

CHAPTER I. 

I went off, in a strange renunciation, and in great 
simplicity, scarcely able to render the reason why I 
should in such a manner quit my family, which I most 
tenderly love, being without any positive assurance, 
yet hoping even against hope itself. I went to the 
New Catholics at Paris, where Providence wrought 
wonders to conceal me. They sent for the Notary, who 
had drawn up the contract of engagement. When he 
read it to me, I felt such a repugnance to it, that I 
could not bear to hear it to the end, much less sign it. 
The Notary wondered at it; and much more so, when 
Sister Gamier came in, and told him herself, that there 
needed no contract of engagement. I was enabled 
through divine assistance, to put my affairs in very 
good order, and to write sundry letters by the inspira¬ 
tion of the Spirit of God, and not by my own spirit. 
This was what I had never experienced before. It was 
given me at that time only as a beginning, and has 
since been granted me much more perfectly, as I shall 
relate in the sequel. 

I had two domestics, whom it was very difficult for 
me to discharge, as I did not think to take them with 



194 


THH LIFB OF XADAMR GUYON. 


me. Yet if I had left them, they would hare told of 
my departure; and I should hare been sent after, as I 
was when it became known. But God so ordered it 
that they were willing to follow me. They were of no 
use to me, and soon after turned into France. I took 
with me only my daughter, and two maids to serve us 
both. We set off in a boat upon the river, though I 
had taken places in the stage-coach, in order that, if 
they searched for me in the coach, they might not find 
me. I went to Melun to wait for it there. 

It was surprising that in this boat the child, without 
adverting to what she did, could not forbear making 
crosses, employing a person to cut rushes for her to 
use for that purpose. She then put around, and all 
over me, above three hundred of them. I let her do it, 
and inwardly apprehended that it was not without its 
meaning. I felt an interior certainty that I was going 
to meet with crosses in abundance; and that this child 
was sowing the cross for me to reap it. Sister Gamier, 
who saw that they could not restrain her from covering 
me with crosses, said to me, “What that child does 
appears to be significant;” and turning to the little 
girl, she said, “ Give me some crosses, too, my pretty 
pet.” “No,” she replied, “they are all for my dear 
mother.” Soon she gave her one to stop her importu¬ 
nity, then continued putting more on me; after which 
she desired some river-flowers, which floated on the 
water, to be given her; and braiding a garland she put 
it on my head, and said to me, “After the cross you 
shall be crowned.” I admired all this in silence, and 
offered myself up to the pure love of God, as a victim, 
free and willing to be sacrificed to him. 

Some time before my departure, a particular friend 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


195 


of mine, who is a true servant of God, related to me a 
vision she had respecting me. “She saw my heart 
surrounded with thorns; that our Lord appeared in it 
well pleased; that, though the thorns seemed likely to 
tear it, yet, instead of doing that, they only rendered it 
fairer, and our Lord’s approbation the stronger. 

At Corbeil, (a little town on the river Seine, sixteen 
miles south of Paris,) I met with the priest whom God 
had first made use of, so powerfully to draw me to his 
love. He approved of my design to leave all for the 
Lord; but he thought I should not be well suited with 
the New Catholics. He told me some things about 
them, to show that our leadings were incompatible. 
He cautioned me not to let them know that I walked 
in the inward path; that, if I did, I must expect noth¬ 
ing but persecution from them. But it is in vain to 
contrive to hide, when God sees it best for us to suffer, 
and when our wills are utterly resigned to him, and 
totally passed into his. 

While at Paris I gave the New Catholics all the 
money I had. I reserved not to myself a single penny, 
rejoicing to be poor after the example of Jesus Christ. 
I brought from home nine thousand livres. As by my 
donation I had reserved nothing to myself, and by a 
contract lent them six thousand; this six thousand has 
returned to my children but none of it to me, which 
gives me no trouble; for poverty, thus procured, con¬ 
stitutes my riches. The rest I gave entirely to the 
sisters that were with us, as well to supply their travel¬ 
ling expenses, as for the purchase of furniture. I did 
not reserve so much as my linen for my own use, put¬ 
ting it in the common fund. I had neither a locked 
coffer, nor purse. I had brought but little linen for 


196 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


fear of mistrust; and lest, in wanting to cany off 
clothes, I should have been discovered. My persecu¬ 
tors did not fail to report that I had brought great 
sums from home, which I had imprudently expended, 
and given to the friends of Father La Combe, which is 
as false, as it is true I had not a penny; and that, on 
my arrival at Annecy, a poor man asking alms, I, hav¬ 
ing nothing else, gave him the buttons from my sleeves. 
At another time I gave a poor man a little plain ring, 
in the name of Jesus Christ, which I had worn as a 
token of my marriage with him. 

We joined the flying stage at Melun, where I left 
Sister Garnier, and went on with the other sisters, 
with whom I had no acquaintance. These carriages 
were very fatiguing, and I got no sleep through so 
long a journey; and although my daughter, a very ten¬ 
der child, only five years of age, got scarcely any, yet 
we bore so great a fatigue without falling sick by the 
way. This child had not an hour’s uneasiness, although 
she was only three hours in bed every night. At an¬ 
other time, half this fatigue, or even the want of rest, 
would have thrown me into a fit of sickness. God 
only knows both the sacrifices which he induced me to 
make, and the joy of my heart in offering up everything 
to him. Had I kingdoms and empires, methinks I 
would yield them up with still more joy, to give him 
the higher marks of my love. 

As soon as we arrived at the inn, I went to Church 
and stayed there till dinner time. In the coach, my 
divine Lord communed with me, and in me, in a man¬ 
ner which the others could not comprehend, and indeed 
did not perceive. The cheerfulness I showed, in the 
greatest dangers, encouraged them. I even sang 


THE LIFE OF MADATVTF! GUYON. 


197 


hymns of joy at finding myself disengaged from the 
riches, honors and entanglements of the world. God 
in such a manner protected us, that he seemed to be 
to us “ a pillar of fire by night, and a pillar of a cloud 
by day.” We passed over a very dangerous spot be¬ 
tween Lyons and Chamberry. Our carriage broke as 
we were coming out of it. Had it happened a little 
sooner, we must have perished 

We arrived at Annecy on Magdalene’s eve, 1681; 
and on Magdalene’s day the Bishop of Geneva per¬ 
formed divine service for us, at the tomb of St. Fran¬ 
cis de Sales. There I renewed my spiritual marriage 
with my Redeemer; as I did every year on this day. 
There also I felt a sweet remembrance of that saint, 
with whom our Lord gives me a singular union. I say 
union, for it appears to me that the soul in God is 
united with the saints, and the more so in proportion 
as they are conformable to him. It is a union which 
it pleases God sometimes to revive after death, and 
awaken in the soul for his own glory. At such times 
departed saints are rendered more intimately present 
to that soul in God; and this revival is as it were an 
holy intercourse of friend with friend, in him who 
unites them all in one immortal tie. 

That day we left Annecy, and on the next went to 
prayers at Geneva, at the house of the French resident. 
I had much joy at the communion; and it seemed to 
me as if God more powerfully united me to himself. 
And there I prayed to him for the conversion of that 
great people. That evening we arrived late at Gex, 
where we found only bare walls; though the Bishop of 
Geneva had assured me that the house was furnished, 
as undoubtedly he believed it to be. We lodged at 


198 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUTON. 


the house of the sisters of charity, who were so kind as 
to give us their beds. 

I was in great pain of mind for my daughter, who 
visibly fell away. I had a strong desire to place her 
with the Ursulines at Tonon. My heart was so affected 
on her behalf, that I could not forbear weeping in 
secret for her in bed. Next day I said, “ I would take 
my daughter to Tonon, and leave her there, till I should 
see how we might be accommodated here.” They 
opposed it strongly, after a manner which seemed very 
hard-hearted as well as ungrateful, seeing she was 
worn away to a skeleton. I looked upon the child as 
a victim whom I had imprudently sacrificed. I wrote 
to Father La Combe, entreating him to come and see 
me, to consult together about it; thinking I could not 
in conscience keep her in this place any longer. Sev¬ 
eral days passed without my having any answer. In 
the meantime I became resigned to the will of God, 
whether to have succor or not. 


TUB LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


199 


CHAPTER II. 

Our Lord took pity on the lamentable condition of 
my daughter, and so ordered it, that the Bishop of 
Geneva wrote to Father La Combe, to come as speedily 
as possible to see us, and to console us. As soon as I 
saw that father, I was surprised to feel an interior 
grace, which I may call Communication; and such as I 
had never had before with any person. It seemed to 
me that an influence of grace came from him to me, 
through the innermost of the soul; and returned from 
me to him, in such sort that he felt the same effect. 
Like a tide of grace it caused a flux and reflux, flowing 
on into the divine and invisible ocean. This is a pure 
and holy union, which God alone operates, and which 
has still subsisted, and even increased between us. It 
is an union exempt from all weakness, and from all 
self-interest, which causes those, who are blessed with 
it, to rejoice in beholding themselves, as well as those 
beloved, laden with crosses and afflictions; an union 
which has no need of the presence of the body; which, 
at certain times, absence makes not more absent, nor 
presence more present; a union unknown to all men, 
but such as are come to experience it; nor can it ever 
be experienced, but between such souls as are united 
to God. As I never before felt a union of this sort 
with any one, it then appeared to me quite new, having 
never heard of the like. I had no doubt of its being 
from God; so far from turning the mind from him, it 


200 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


tended to draw it more deeply into him. It dissipated 
all my pains, and established me in the most profound 
peace. 

God gave him at first much openness of mind 
toward me. He related to me the mercies God had 
shown him, and several extraordinary things, which 
gave me at first some fear. I suspected some illusion, 
especially in such things as flatter, in regard to the 
future; little imagining then, that God would make use 
of me to draw him from this state, and bring him into 
that of naked faith. But the grace, which flowed from 
him into my soul, recovered me from that fear, as I 
saw that it was joined with extraordinary humility; 
and that far from being elevated with the gifts which 
God had liberally conferred upon him, or with his own 
profound learning, no person could have a lower opin¬ 
ion of himself than he had. He told me “ As to my 
daughter, it would be best for me to take her to Tonon, 
where he thought she would be very well situated.” 
And as to myself, after I had mentioned to him my 
dislike to the manner of life of the New Catholics, he 
told me, “that he did not think that it would be my 
proper place to be long with them; but that it would 
be best for me to stay there, free from all engage¬ 
ments, till God, by the guidance of his Providence, 
should make known to me how he would dispose of 
me, and draw my mind to the place whither he would 
have me remove.” I had already begun to awake reg¬ 
ularly at midnight, in order to pray. At this time I 
awoke with these -words suddenly put in my mind, “It 
is written of me, I will do thy will, O my God.” This 
was accompanied with the most pure, penetrating, and 
powerful communication of grace that I had ever 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


201 


experienced. And here I may remark, that though the 
state of my soul was already permanent in newness of 
life; yet this new life was not in that immutability in 
which it has since been. To speak properly, it was a 
beginning life and a rising day, which goes on increas¬ 
ing unto the full meridian; a day never followed by 
night; a life which fears death no more, not even in 
death itself; because he who has suffered the first 
death, shall no more be hurt of the second. From 
midnight I continued on my knees till four o’clock in 
the morning, in prayer, in a sweet intercourse with 
God, and did the same also the night following. 

The next day, after prayers, Father La Combe told 
me, that he had a very great certainty, that I was a 
stone which God designed for the foundation of some 
great building. But what that building was he knew 
no more than I. After whatever manner then it is to 
be, whether his divine Majesty will make use of me in 
this life, for some design known to himself only, or will 
make me one of the stones of the new and heavenly 
Jerusalem, it seems to me that such stone cannot be 
polished, but by the strokes of the hammer; and that 
our Lord has given to this soul of mine the qualities of 
the stone, viz., firmness, resignation, insensibility, and 
power to endure hardness under the operations of his 
hand. 

I carried my little daughter to the Ursulines at 
Tonon. That poor child took a great fondness for 
Father La Combe, saying, “ He is a good father, one 
from God.” Here I found a hermit, whom they called 
Anselm. He was a person of the most extraordinary 
sanctity, that had appeared for some time. He was 
from Geneva; and God had miraculously drawn him 


202 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


from thence, at twelve years of age. He had at nine¬ 
teen years of age taken the habit of hermit of St. 
Augustine. He and another lived alone in a little her¬ 
mitage, where they saw nobody but such as came to 
visit their chapel. He had lived twelve years in this 
hut, never eating anything but pulse with salt, and 
sometimes oil Three times a week he lived on bread 
and water. He never drank wine, and generally made 
but one meal in twenty-four hours. He wore for a 
shirt a coarse hair cloth, and lodged on the bare 
ground. He lived in a continual state of prayer, and 
in the greatest humility. God had done by him many 
signal miracles. 

This good hermit had a great sense of the designs 
of God on Father La Combe and me. But God showed 
him at the same time that strange crosses were prepar¬ 
ing for us both, and that we were both destined for the 
aid of souls. I did not find, as I expected, any suitable 
place for my daughter at Tonon. In regard to her, I 
thought myself like Abraham, when going to sacrifice 
his son. Father La Combe, accosting me here, said, 
“Welcome, daughter of Abraham!” I found little 
encouragement to leave her there, and could not keep 
her with myself, because we had no room; and the 
little girls, whom they took to make Catholics, were all 
mixed with us, and had contracted such habits as were 
pernicious. To leave her there I thought not right. 
The language of the country, where scarce anyone 
understood French, and the food, which she could not 
take, being so far different from ours, were great hard¬ 
ships. All my tenderness for her was awakened, and I 
looked on myself as her destroyer. I experienced what 
Hagar suffered when she put away her son Ishmael in 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


203 


the desert, that she might not be forced to see him 
perish. I thought, that even if I had ventured to 
expose myself, I ought at least to have spared my 
daughter; as the loss of her education, and even of her 
life, appeared to me inevitable. Everything looked 
dark in regard to her. 

I thought that, with her natural disposition and 
fine qualities, she might have attracted admiration, if 
educated in France, and been likely to have such offers 
of marriage, as she could never hope to meet with in 
this poor country; in which, if she should recover, she 
would never be likely to be fit for anything. Here she 
could eat nothing of what was offered her. All her 
subsistence was a little unpleasant and disagreeable 
broth, which I forced her to take against her will. I 
seemed like a second Abraham, holding the knife over 
her to destroy her. Our Lord would have me make a 
sacrifice to him, without any consolation, and plunged 
in sorrow, night was the time in which I gave vent to 
it. He made me see, on one side, the grief of her 
grandmother, if she should hear of her death, which 
she would impute to my taking the child away from 
her; and the great reproach, it would be accounted 
am#ng all the family. The gifts of nature she was 
endowed with were now like pointed darts which 
pierced me. I believe that God so ordered it, to purify 
me from too human an attachment, which was still in 
me. For after I returned from the Ursulines at Tonon, 
they changed her manner of diet, and gave her what 
was suitable to her delicacy; whereby, in a short time 
she recovered finely. 


204 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYOJL 


CHAPTER ITL 

As soon as it was known in France that I was gone, 
there was a general outcry. Those who attacked me 
with the most violence were the human spiritualists. 
Father de la Mothe wrote to me, that all persons of 
learning and of piety united in censuring me. To 
alarm me still more, he informed me that my mother- 
in-law, with whom I had entrusted my younger son 
and my children’s substance, was fallen into a state of 
childhood. This, however, was very false. 

I answered all these fearful letters as the Spirit dic¬ 
tated. My answers were thought very just, and were 
well relished, whereby those violent exclamations 
were soon changed into applauses. Father La Mothe 
appeared to change his censures into esteem; but it 
did not last long. Self interest threw him back again; 
being disappointed in his hopes of a pension, which he 
expected I would have settled on him. Also Sister 
Gamier, whatever was her reason, changed and de¬ 
clared against me. 

Here I both eat and slept little. The food which 
was given us was putrid and full of worms, by reaso 
of the great heat of the weather, and being kept to 
long; insomuch, that what I should have formerl 
beheld with the greatest abhorrence, now became my 
only nourishment; and yet everything was rendere 
easy to me. In God I found, without increase, every¬ 
thing which I had lost for him. That spirit, which I 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON 


205 


once thought I had lost in a strange stupidity, was 
restored to me with inconceivable advantages. I was 
astonished at myself. I found there was nothing which 
I was not fit for, or in which I did not succeed. Those 
who observed this, said, “ I had a prodigious capacity.’’ 
I well knew that I had but meagre capabilities, but 
that in God my spirit had received a quality which it 
had never had before. I thought I experienced some¬ 
thing of the state which the apostles were in, after they 
had received the Holy Ghost. I knew, I compre¬ 
hended, I understood, I was enabled to do everything 
requisite. I had every sort of good thing, and no want 
of anything. I remembered that fine passage of wis¬ 
dom, “All good things came to me with her.” (Wisdom 
of Sol. vii. 2.) When Jesus Christ, the eternal wisdom, 
is formed in the soul, after the death of the first Adam, 
it finds in him all good things cemmunicated to it. 

Sometime after my arrival at Gex, the Bishop of 
Geneva came to see us. He was so clearly convinced, 
and so much affected, that he could not forbear express¬ 
ing it. He opened his heart to me on what God had 
required of him. He confessed to me his own devia¬ 
tions and infidelities. Every time, when I spoke to 
him, he entered into what I said, and acknowledged it 
to be the truth; as indeed it was the Spirit of truth 
which inspired me to speak to him, without which I 
should be only a mere simpleton. And yet as soon as 
persons spoke to him, who sought for pre-eminence, 
and who could not suffer any good but what came 
from themselves, he was so weak as to let himself be 
imposed on with impressions against the truth. This 
weakness has hindered him from doing all the good 
which otheiwise he might have done in his diocese. 


206 


TKB LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


After I had spoken to him, he said, “ he had it in 
his mind to give me Father La Combe for director; for 
that he was a man illuminated of God, who well under¬ 
stood the inward path, and had a singular gift of paci¬ 
fying souls.” These were his own words. Greatly was 
I rejoiced when the Bishop appointed him, seeing 
thereby his authority united with the grace which 
already seemed to have given him to me, by a union 
and effusion of supernatural life and love. The fatigues 
I had, and watchings with my daughter, threw me into 
a violent sickness, attended with exquisite pain. The 
physicians judged me in danger, and yet the sisters of 
the house quite neglected me; especially the stewardess. 
She was so penurious, that she did not give me what 
was necessary to sustain life. I had not a penny to 
help myself with, as I had reserved nothing to myself. 
And beside, they at that time received all the money 
which was remitted to me from France, which was 
very considerable. Thus I practiced poverty, and was 
in necessity even among those to whom I had given all. 
They wrote to Father La Combe, desiring him to come 
to me, as I was so extremely ill. On hearing of my 
condition, he was so touched with compassion, as to 
walk on foot all night, it being eight great leagues; but 
he travelled no otherwise, endeavoring in that, as in 
everything else, to imitate our Lord Jesus Christ. 

As soon as he entered the house, my pains abated; 
and when he had prayed and blessed me, laying his 
hand on my head, I was perfectly cured, to the great 
astonishment of my physicians; who were not willing 
to acknowledge the miracle; being not well pleased, as 
they knew that we were come on a religious motive, 
and their sentiments and profession was so opposite to 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GTJYON. 


207 


oum These sisters advised me to return to my daugh¬ 
ter. Father La Combe returned with me. A violent 
storm arose on the lake, which made me very sick, and 
seemed likely to overset the boat But the hand of 
Providence remarkably appeared in our favor; so much 
so, that it was taken notice of by the mariners and pas¬ 
sengers, who looked upon Father La Combe as a saint. 
Thus we arrived at Tonon, where I found myself so 
perfectly recovered, that, instead of making and using 
the remedies I had proposed, I went into a retreat, and 
stayed there twelve days. Here I made vows of per¬ 
petual chastity, poverty and obedience, covenanting to 
obey whatever I should believe to be the will of God, 
also to obey the Church, and to honor Jesus Christ in 
such a manner as he pleased. 

At this time I found that I had the perfect chastity 
of love to the Lord, it being without any reserve, 
division, or view of interest;—perfect poverty, by the 
total privation of everything that was mine, both 
inwardly and outwardly;—perfect obedience to the will 
of the Lord, submission to the Church, and honor to 
Jesus Christ in loving himself only; the effect of which 
soon appeared. When by the loss of ourselves we are 
passed into the Lord, our will is made one and the 
same with that of the Lord, according to the prayer of 
Christ, “ As thou Father art in me, and I in thee, grant 
that they also may be one in us.” John xvii. 21. Oh, 
but it is then that the will is rendered marvellous, both 
because it is made the will of the Lord, which is the 
greatest of miracles; and because it works wonders in 
him. For as it is the Lord who wills in the soul, that 
will has its effect. Scarcely has it willed but the thing 
is done. 


208 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


But some may say, Why then so many oppressions 
endured ? Why do not these souls, if they have such a 
power, set themselves free from them? We answer 
that if they had any will to do anything of that sort, 
against divine providence, that would be the will of the 
flesh, or the will of man, and not the will of God.— 
John i. 13. 

I rose generally at midnight, waking at the proper 
time; but if I wound up my alarm-watch, then I used 
not to awake in time. I saw that the Lord had the 
care of a father and a spouse over me. When I had 
any indisposition, and my body wanted rest, he did not 
awake me; but at such times I felt even in my sleep a 
singular possession of him. Some years have passed 
wherein I have had only a kind of half-sleep; but my 
soul waked the more for the Lord, as sleep seemed to 
steal from it every other attention. The Lord made it 
known also to many persons, that he designed me for 
a mother of great people, but a people simple and 
child-like. They took these intelligences in a literal 
sense, and thought it related to some institution or 
congregation. But it appeared to me that the persons 
whom it would please the Lord that I should win over 
to him, and to whom I should be as a mother, through 
his goodness, should have the same union of affection 
for me as children have for a parent, but a union much 
deeper and stronger; and giving me all that was neces¬ 
sary for them, to bring them to walk in the way by 
which he would lead them, as I shall show in the 
sequeL 


THE LIFE OF MADATVfF, GUYON. 


209 


CHAPTER IV. 

I would willingly suppress what I am now about to 
write if anything of it were my own, as well on account 
of the difficulty of expressing myself thereon, as because 
few souls are capable of understanding divine leadings 
which are so little known, and so little comprehended. 
I have myself never read of anything like it. I shall 
say something of the interior dispositions I was then 
in, and I shall think my time well employed, if it serves 
you who are willing to be of the number of my chil¬ 
dren, and if it serves such as are already my children, 
to induce them to let God glorify himseli in them after 
his manner, and not after their own. If there be any¬ 
thing which they do not comprehend, let them die to 
themselves, and they will find it much easier to learn 
by experience than from anything I could say; for 
expression never equals experience. 

After I had come out of the trying condition I have 
spoken of, I found it had purified my soul, instead of 
blackening it as I had feared. I possessed God after a 
manner so pure, and so immense, as nothing else could 
equal. In regard to thoughts or desires, all was so 
clean, so naked, so lost in the divinity, that the soul 
had no selfish movement, however plausible or delicate; 
both the powers of the mind and the very senses being 
wonderfully purified. Sometimes I was surprised to 
find that there appeared not one selfish thought. The 
imagination, formerly so restless, now no more troubled 


210 


TH LIT! OF MADAMS QUYON. 


me. I had no more perplexity or uneasy reflections. 
The will, being perfectly dead to all its own appetites, 
was become void of every human inclination, both nat¬ 
ural and spiritual, and only inclined to whatever God 
pleased, and to whatever manner he pleased. This 
vastness or enlargedness, which is not bounded by any¬ 
thing, however plain or simple it may be, increases 
every day; so that my soul in partaking of the quali¬ 
ties of her Spouse, seems also to partake of his immen¬ 
sity. My prayer was in an openness and singleness 
inconceivable. I was, as it were, borne up on high, 
out of myself. I believe God was pleased to bless me 
with this experience, at the beginning of the new life, 
to make me comprehend, for the good of other souls, 
the simplicity and desirableness of this passage of the 
soul into God. 

When I went to confess, I felt such an immersion 
of the soul into him, that I could scarcely speak. This 
ascension of the spirit, wherein God draws the soul so 
powerfully, not into its own inmost recess, but into 
himself, is not operated till after the death of self, 
wherein the soul actually comes out of itself to pass 
into its divine object. I call it death, that is to say, a 
passage from one thing to another; and it is truly a 
happy passover for the soul, and its passage into the 
promised land. The spirit which is created to be 
united to its divine Origin, has so powerful a tendency 
to him, that if it were not stopped by a continual mira¬ 
cle, its moving quality would cause the body to be 
drawn after it whithersoever it would, by reason of its 
impetuosity and noble ascent. But God has given it a 
terrestrial body to serve for a counterpoise. This 
spirit then, created to be united to its Origin, without 



THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


211 


any medium or interstice, feeling itself drawn by its 
divine object, tends to it with an extreme violence; in 
such sort that God, suspending for sometime the 
power which the body has to hold back the spirit, it 
follows with ardency; but when it is not sufficiently 
purified to pass into God, it gradually returns back to 
itself; and as the body resumes its own quality, it turns 
to the earth. The saints who have been the most per¬ 
fect have advanced to that degree, as to have nothing 
of all this; and some have lost it toward the end of 
their lives, becoming single and pure as the others, 
because they then had in reality and permanence, what 
they had at first only as transient fruitions, in the time 
of the prevalence or dominion of the body. It is cer¬ 
tain then that the soul, by death to itself, passes into 
its divine Object; and this is what I then experienced. 
I found, the farther I went, the more my spirit was 
lost in its Sovereign, who attracted it more and more 
to himself. And he was pleased at first that I should 
know this for the sake of others, and not for myself. 
Indeed he drew my soul more and more into himself, 
till it lost itself entirely out of sight, and could perceive 
itself no more. It seemed at first to pass into him. As 
one sees a river pass into the ocean, lose itself in it, its 
water for a time distinguished from that of the sea, till 
it gradually becomes transformed into the same sea, 
and possesses all its qualities; so was my soul lost in 
God, who communicated to it his qualities, having 
drawn it out of all that it had of its own. Its life is an 
inconceivable innocence, not known or comprehended 
of those who are still shut up in themselves or only 
live for themselves. 

The joy which such a soul possesses in its God is so 


212 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GTJYON. 


great, that it experiences the truth of those words of 
the royal prophet, “ All they who are in thee, O Lord, 
are like persons ravished with joy.” To such a soul 
the words of our Lord seem to he addressed, “Your 
joy no man shall take from you.” John xvi. 22. It is 
as it were plunged in a river of peace. Its prayer is 
continual. Nothing can hinder it from praying to God, 
or from loving him. It amply verifies these words in 
the Canticles, “I sleep hut my heart waketh;” for it 
finds that even sleep itself does not hinder it from pray¬ 
ing. Oh unutterable happiness! Who could ever have 
thought that a soul, which seemed to he in the utmost 
misery, should ever find a happiness equal to this? Oh 
happy poverty, happy loss, happy nothingness, which 
gives no less than God himself in his own immensity, 
no more circumscribed to the limited manner of the 
creature, but always drawing it out of that, to plunge it 
wholly into his own divine essence. 

Then the soul knows that all the states of self-pleas¬ 
ing visions, openings, ecstasies and raptures, are rather 
obstacles; that they do not serve this state which is far 
above them; because the state which has supports, has 
pain to lose them; and yet cannot arrive at this without 
such loss. In this are verified the words of an experi¬ 
enced saint; “When I would,” says he, “possess nothing 
through self-love, everything was given me without 
going after it.” Oh happy dying of the grain of wheat, 
which makes it produce an hundred-fold! The soul is 
then so passive, so equally disposed to receive from the 
hand of God either good or evil, as is astonishing. It 
receives both the one and the other without any selfish 
emotions, letting them flow and be lost as they come. 
They pass away as if they did not touch. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


213 


After I finished my retreat with the Ursulines at 
Tonon, I returned through Geneva; and, having found 
no other means of conveyance, the French resident lent 
me a horse. As I knew not how to ride on horseback, 
I made some difficulty of doing it; but as he assured 
me that it was a very quiet horse, I ventured to mount 
him. There was a sort of a smith, who looking at me 
with a wild haggard look, struck the horse a blow on 
the back, just as I had got upon him, which made him 
give a leap. He threw me on the ground with such 
force that they thought I was killed. I fell on my tem¬ 
ple. My cheek-bone and two of my teeth were broken. 
I was supported by an invisible hand; and in a little 
time I mounted as well as I could on another horse 
and had a man by my side to keep me up. 

My relations left me in peace at Gex, testifying 
their esteem for me; and as they had heard at Paris of 
my miraculous cure, it made a great noise there. Many 
persons in reputation for sanctity then wrote to me. I 
received letters from Madamoiselle De Lamoignon, and 
another young lady, who was so moved with my answer, 
that she sent me a hundred pistoles for our house, and 
let me know beside, “ that, when we wanted money, I 
had only to write to her; and that she would send me 
all I could desire.” They talked in Paris of printing an 
account of the sacrifice I had made, and inserting in it 
the miracle of my sudden recovery. I don’t know 
what prevented it; but such is the inconstancy of the 
creature, that this journey, which drew upon me at 
that time so much applause, has served for a pretext 
for the strange condemnation which has since passed 
upon me. 


214 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


CHAPTER V. 

My near relations did not signify any eager desire 
for my return. The first thing they proposed to me, 
a month after my arrival at Gex, was not only to give 
up my guardianship, but to make over all my estate to 
my children, and to reserve an annuity to myself. This 
proposition, coming from people who regarded nothing 
but their own interest, to some might have appeared 
very unpleasing; but it was in no wise so to me. I had 
not any friend to advise with. I knew not anyone 
whom I could consult about the manner of executing 
the thing, as I was quite free and willing to do it. It 
appeared to me that I had now the means of accom¬ 
plishing the extreme desire I had of being conformable 
to Jesus Christ, poor, naked, and stripped of all. They 
sent me an article to execute, which had been drawn 
under their inspection, and I innocently signed it, not 
perceiving some clauses which were inserted therein. 
It expressed that, when my children should die, I 
should inherit nothing of my own estate, but that it 
should devolve to my kindred. There were many 
other things, which appeared to be equally to my dis¬ 
advantage. Though what I had reserved to myself was 
sufficient to support me in this place; yet it was scarcely 
enough to do so in some other places. I then gave up 
my estate with more joy, for being thereby conformed 
to Jesus Christ, than they could have who asked it from 
me. It is what I have never repented of, nor had any 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


215 


uneasiness about Wliat pleasure to lose all for the 
Lord! The love of poverty, thus contracted, is the 
kingdom of tranquillity. 

I forgot to mention that, towards the end of my 
miserable state of privation, when just ready to enter 
into newness of life, our Lord illuminated me so clearly 
to see that the exterior crosses came from him, that I 
could not harbor any resentment against the persons 
who procured me them. On the contrary, I felt the 
tenderness of compassion for them, and had more pain 
for those afflictions which I innocently caused to them, 
than for any which they had heaped upon me. I saw 
that these persons feared the Lord too much to oppress 
me as they did, had they known it. I saw his hand in 
it, and I felt the pain which they suffered, through the 
contrariety of their humors. It is hard to conceive the 
tenderness which the Lord gave me for them, and the 
desire which I have had, with the utmost sincerity, to 
procure them every sort of advantage. 

After the accident which befell me, of the fall from 
the horse, from which I soon wonderfully recovered, 
the devil began to declare himself more openly mine 
enemy, to break loose and become outrageous. One 
night, 1 when I least thought of it, something very mon¬ 
strous and frightful presented itself. It seemed a kind 
of face, w T hich was seen by a glimmering blueish light. 
I don’t know whether the flame itself composed that 
horrible face or appearance; for it was so mixed and 
passed by so rapidly, that I could not discern it. My 
soul rested in its calm situation and assurance, and it 
appeared no more after that manner. As I arose at 
midnight to pray, I heard frightful noises in my cham¬ 
ber, and after I had lain down they were still worse; 


216 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


my bed often shook for a quarter of an hour at a time, 
and the paper sashes were all burst. Every morning 
while this continued, they were found shattered and 
torn, yet I felt no fear. I arose and lighted my wax- 
candle at a lamp which I kept in my chamber, because 
I had taken the office of sacristm, and the care of 
waking the sisters at the hour they were to rise, with¬ 
out having once failed in it for my indispositions, ever 
being the first in all the observances I made use of 
my little light to look all over the chamber, and at the 
sashes, at the very time the noise war strongest. As 
he saw that I was airaid of nothing, he left off all on a 
sudden, and attacked me no more in person; but he 
stirred up men against me, and that succeeded far 
better with him; for he found them disposed to do 
what he prompted them to, zealously, inasmuch as 
they counted it a good thing to do me the worst of 
injuries. 

One of the sisters whom I had brought with me, a 
very beautiful girl, contracted an intimacy wit'' an 
ecclesiastic, who had authority in this place. At urst 
he inspired her with an aversion for me, being veil 
assured that if she placed, confidence in me, I shoffid 
advise her not to suffer his visits so frequently. She 
was undertaking a religious retreat. That ecclesiastic 
was desirous to induce her to make it, in order to gain 
her entire confidence, which would have served as a 
cloak to his frequent visits. The Bishop of Geneva 
had given Father La Combe for director to our house, 
and as he was going to cause retreats to be made, I 
desired her to wait for him. As I had gained some 
share in her esteem, she submitted thereto, even against 
her inclination, which was to have made it under this 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUTON. 


217 


ecclesiastic. I began to talk to her on the subject of 
inward prayer, and drew her into the practice of this 
duty. Our Lord gave such a blessing thereto, that this 
girl (one of good parts), gave herself to God in right 
earnest, and with her whole heart; and the retreat com¬ 
pletely won her over. She then became more reserved, 
and on her guard, towards this ecclesiastic, which 
exceedingly vexed him. It enraged him both against 
Father La Combe and me. This proved the source of 
the persecutions which afterwards befell me. The noise 
in my chamber, which may have been traced to him, 
ended as these commenced. 

This ecclesiastic began to talk privately of me with 
much contempt. I knew it, but took no notice of it. 
There came a certain friar to see him, who mortally 
hated Father La Combe, on account of his regularity. 
These combined together to force me to quit the house, 
that they might become masters of it themselves. All 
the means they could devise they used for that pur¬ 
pose. 

My maimer of life was such, that in the house I did 
not meddle in affairs at all, leaving the sisters to dis¬ 
pose of the temporalities as they pleased. Soon after 
my entrance into it I received eighteen hundred livres, 
which a lady, a friend of mine, lent me to complete our 
furniture, which I had repaid her at my late giving up 
of my estate. This sum they received, as well as what 
I had before given them. I sometimes spoke a little to 
those who retired thither to become Catholics, and our 
Lord favored with so much benediction what I said to 
them, that some, whom they knew not before what to 
make of, became sensible, solid women, and exemplary 
in piety. 


218 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


I saw crosses in abundance likely to fall to my lot* 
At the same time these words came into my mind, 
“ Who for the joy that was set before him endured the 
cross.” Heb. xii. 2. I prostrated myself for a long 
time with my face on the ground, earnestly desiring to 
receive all thy strokes. Oh, thou who spared not thine 
own son! Thou couldst find none but him worthy of 
thee, and thou still findest in him hearts proper for 
thee. 

A few days after my arrival at Gex, I saw in a sacred 
and mysterious dream (for as such I very well distin¬ 
guished it) Father La Combe fastened up to an enor¬ 
mous cross, stripped in like manner as they paint our 
Savior. I saw around it a frightful crowd, which cov¬ 
ered me with confusion, and threw back on me the 
ignominy of his punishment. He seemed to have most 
pain, but I more reproaches than he. I have since 
beheld this fully accomplished. 

The aforesaid ecclesiastic won over to his party one 
of our sisters, who was the house-steward, and soon 
after the prioress. I was of a very delicate frame, the 
good inclination which I had did not give strength to 
my body. I had two maids of my own with me to 
serve me; yet, as the community had need of one of 
them for their cook, and the other to attend the door 
and other occasions, I gave them up, not thinking but 
they would allow them to serve me sometimes, and 
assist me in things I was not able to do myself; for, 
besides-this, I let them still receive all my income, they 
having had already my first half of this year’s annuity. 
Yet they would not permit either of my maid-servants 
to do anything for me. By my office of sacristan I 
was obliged to sweep the Church, which was large, and 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


219 


they would not let anyone help me in it. I have sev¬ 
eral times fainted away over the broom, and have been 
forced to rest myself in little comers, quite spent. 
This obliged me to beg them, that they would suffer it 
sometimes to be swept by some of the strong country 
girls which were there, New Catholics, which at last 
they had the charity to consent to. But what most 
embarrassed me was that I never had washed, and was 
now obliged to wash all the vestry linen. I took one 
of my maids to help me, because in attempting it by 
myself, I had done up the linen most awkwardly. But 
these sisters pulled her by the arms out of my chamber, 
telling her she should do her own business. I let it 
quietly pass, without making any objection to it. The 
other good sister, the girl I just mentioned, grew more 
and more fervent, by the practice of prayer in her dedi¬ 
cation of herself to the Lord, more and more tender 
in her sympathy with me, which irritated this eccle¬ 
siastic; insomuch that, after all his impotent attempts 
here, he went off to Annecy, in order to sow discord, 
and to effect more mischief to Father La Combe. 


7 


220 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


CHAPTER VI. 

He went directly to the Bishop of Geneva, who till 
then had manifested much esteem and kindness for 
me, and persuaded him, “ that it would be proper to 
secure me to that house, to oblige me to give up to it 
the annual income I had reserved to myself; and to 
engage me thereto, by making me prioress.” He had 
gained such an ascendancy over the Bishop, that the 
people in the country called him the Little Bishop. 
Wherefore he drew him to enter heartily and with zeal 
into this proposition, and to resolve to bring it about 
whatever it should cost him. 

The ecclesiastic, having so far carried his point, and 
being swelled with his success in this first essay, no 
longer kept any measures in regard to me. He began 
with causing all the letters which I sent, and those 
which were directed to me, to be stopped; in order to 
have it in his power to make what impressions he 
pleased on the minds of others, and that I should 
neither be able to know it, nor to defend myself, nor to 
give or send to my friends any account of the manner 
in which I was treated. One of the maids I had 
brought wanted to return, as she could have no rest in 
this place, and the other that remained was infirm, and 
too much taken up by others to help me in anything. 
As Father La Combe was soon to come, I thought he 
would soften the violent spirit of this man, and that he 
would give me proper advice. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


221 


In the meantime they proposed to me the engage¬ 
ment, and the post of prioress. I answered, “that as 
to the engagement it was impossible for me, since my 
vocation wa3 elsewhere. And I could not regularly be 
the prioress, till after passing through the noviciate, in 
which they had all served two years before their being 
engaged; that when I should have done as much, I 
should see how God would inspire me.” The prioress 
replied pretty tartly, “ that if I would ever leave them 
it were best for me to do it immediately.” Yet I did 
not offer to retire, but continued still to act as usual. 
However, I saw the sky gradually thickening, and 
storms gathering on every side. The 'prioress then 
affected a milder air. She assured me, “that she had 
a desire, as well as I, to go to Geneva; that I should 
not engage, but only promise her to take her with me, 
if I went thither.” She pretended to place a great 
confidence in me, and prefessed a high esteem for me. 
As I am very free, and have nothing but uprightness, I 
let her know “ that I had no attraction for the maimer 
of life of the New Catholics, by reason of the intrigues 
from without. Several things did not please me, be¬ 
cause I wanted them to be upright in everything.” 
She signified, “ that she did not consent to such things, 
but because that ecclesiastic told her they were neces¬ 
sary to give the house a credit in distant parts, and to 
draw charities from Paris.” I answered, “that if we 
walked uprightly God would never fail us. He would 
sooner do miracles for us.” I remarked to her, “that 
when, instead of sincerity, they had recourse to artifice, 
charity grew cold, and kept herself shut up. It is God 
alone who inspires charity; how, then, is it to be drawn 
by disguises ? ” 


222 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


Soon after, Father La Combe came about the re¬ 
treats. This was the third and last time that he came 
to Gex. The prioress, after she had been tampering a 
good deal with me hereupon, haying written him a 
long letter before his coming, and received his answer, 
which she showed me, now went to ask him whether 
she would one day be united to me at Geneva. He 
answered her with his usual uprightness, “ Our Lord 
has made it known to me that you shall never be estab¬ 
lished at Geneva.” And soon after she died. When 
he had uttered this declaration, she appeared enraged 
against both him and me, after a surprising manner. 
She went directly to that ecclesiastic, who was in a 
chamber with the house-steward; and they took their 
measures together, to oblige me either to engage or 
retire. They thought that I would sooner engage than 
retire, and they narrowly watched my letters. 

With a design to lay snares for him, he requested 
Father La Combe to preach, which he did—on this text, 
“The king’s daughter is beautiful within.” That eccle¬ 
siastic, who was present with his confidant, said, “It 
was preached against him, and was full of errors.” 
He drew up eight propositions, and inserted in them 
what the other had not preached, adjusting them as 
maliciously as ever he could, and sent them to one of 
his friends in Eome, to get them examined by the 
Sacred Congregation, and by the Inquisition. Though 
he had very illy digested them, at Rome they were 
pronounced good. That greatly disappointed and 
vexed him. After having been treated in this manner, 
and opprobriously reviled by him in the most offensive 
terms, the Father, with much mildness and humility, 
told him, “that he was going to Annecy about some 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


223 


affairs of the convent; and that if he had anything to 
write to the Bishop of Geneva, he would take care of 
his letter. He then desired him to wait awhile, as he 
was going to write. The good Father had the patience 
to wait above three hours, without hearing from him; 
though he had treated him exceedingly ill, so far as to 
snatch out of his hands a letter I had given him for 
that worthy hermit I have mentioned. Hearing he 
was not gone, but was still in the Church, I went to 
him, and begged him to send to see if the other’s 
packet was ready; because the day was so far gone, that 
he would be obliged to lodge by the way. When the 
messenger arrived, he found a servant of the ecclesias¬ 
tic on horseback, ordered to go at full speed, to be 
at Annecy before the Father. He then returned an 
answer, “that he had no letters to send by him.” 
This was so contrived, that he might gain time to pre¬ 
possess the Bishop for his purposes. Father La Combe 
then set off for Annecy, and on his arrival found the 
Bishop prepossessed, and in an ill humor. This was 
the substance of the discourse which they had: 

Bishop. —You must absolutely engage this lady to 
give what she has to the house at Gex, and make her 
the prioress of it. 

F. La Combe.— My lord, you know what she has 
told you herself of her vocation, both at Paris and in 
this country. I therefore do not believe that she will 
engage; nor is there any likelihood that, after quitting 
her all, in the hope of entering Geneva, she should 
engage elsewhere, and thereby put it out of her power 
to accomplish the designs of God in regard to her. 
She has offered to stay with those sisters as a boarder 
If they are willing to keep her as such, she will remain 


224 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


with them; if not, she is resolved to retire into some 
convent, till God shall dispose of her otherwise. 

Bishop.— I know all that; but I likewise know that 
she is so very obedient, that, if you order her, she will 
assuredly do it. 

F. La Combe.— It is for that reason, my lord, that 
one ought to be very cautious in the commands which 
they lay on her. Can I induce a foreign lady, who, for 
all her subsistence, has nothing but a small pittance 
she has reserved to herself, to give that up in favor of 
a house which is not yet established, and perhaps never 
will be ? If the house should happen to fail, or be no 
longer of use, what shall that lady live on ? Shall she 
go to the hospital? And indeed this house will not 
long be of any use, since there are no Protestants in 
any part of France near it. 

Bishop. —These reasons are good for nothing. If 
you do not make her do what I have said, I will de¬ 
grade and suspend you. 

This manner of speaking somewhat surprised the 
Father, who well enough understands the rules of sus¬ 
pension, which is not executed on such things. He 
replied: 

“My lord, I am ready, not only to suffer the sus¬ 
pension, but even death, rather than do anything 
against my conscience.”—Having said that, he retired. 

He directly sent me this account by an express, to 
the end that I might take proper measures thereon. I 
had no other course to take but to retire into a convent. 
I received a letter informing me that the nun to whom 
I had entrusted my daughter had fallen sick, and desir¬ 
ing me to go to her for some time. I showed this 
letter to the sisters of our house, telling them, “I had 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


225 


a mind to go; but if they ceased to persecute me, and 
would leave Father La Combe in peace, I would return 
as soon as the mistress of my daughter should be 
recovered.” Instead of this, they persecuted me more 
violently, wrote to Paris against me, stopped all my 
letters, and sent libels against me around the country. 

The day after my arrival at Tonon, Father La 
Combe set off for the valley of Aoust, to preach there 
in Lent. He had come to take leave me, and told me 
“ he should go from thence to Rome, and perhaps not 
return, as his superiors might detain him there; that 
he was sorry to leave me in a strange country, without 
succor, and persecuted of everyone.” I replied, “My 
father, that gives me no pain; I use the creatures for 
God, and by his order. Through his mercy, I do very 
well without them, when he withdraws them; and I 
am very well contented never to see you, and to abide 
under persecution, if such be his will.” He said he 
would go well satisfied to see me in such a disposition? 
and then took his leave and departed. 

As soon as I got to the Ursulines, a very aged and 
pious priest, who for twenty years past had not come 
out of his solitude, came to find me. He told me, 
“that he had a vision relative to me; that he had seen 
a woman in a boat on the lake; and that the Bishop of 
Geneva, with some of his priests, exerted all their efforts 
to sink the boat she was in, and to drown her; that he 
continued in this vision above two hours, with pain of 
mind; that it seemed sometimes as if this woman were 
quite drowned, as for some time she quite disappeared; 
but afterwards she appeared again, and ready to escape 
the danger, while the Bishop never ceased to pursue 
her. This woman was always equally calm; but he 


226 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


never saw her entirely free from him. From whence 1 
conclude, added he, that the Bishop will persecute 
you without intermission.” 

I had an intimate friend, wife of that governor o! 
whom I have made some mention. As she saw I had 
quitted everything for God, she had a warm desire to 
follow me. With diligence did she dispose of all her 
effects, and settle her affairs, in order to come to me; 
but when she heard of the persecution, she was dis¬ 
couraged from coming to a place, from whence she 
thought I should be obliged to retire; and soon after 
she died. 


THE LIFE OF MAD AMR GUYON. 


227 


CHAPTER m 

After Father La Combe was gone, the persecution 
raised against me became more violent. But the Bish¬ 
op of Geneva still showed me some civilities, as well 
to try whether he could prevail on me to do what he 
deshed, as to sound how matters passed in France, and 
to prejudice the minds of the people there against me, 
always preventing me from receiving the letters sent 
me. The ecclesiastic and his family had twenty-two 
intercepted letters, opened, on their table. There was 
one wherein was sent me a power of attorney to sign, 
of immediate consequence. They were obliged to 
put it under another cover, and send it to me. The 
bishop wrote to Father La Mothe, and had no difficulty 
to draw him into his party. For he was displeased 
with me on two accounts. First, that I had not settled 
on him a pension, as he expected, and as he told me 
very roughly several times. Secondly, I did not take 
his advice in everything; besides some other interests 
he had in view. He at once declared against me. The 
bishop made him his confidant. It was he who uttered 
and spread abroad the news about me, which they sent 
him. They imagined, as was supposed, that I would 
annul the donation I had made, if I returned; that, 
having the support of friends in France, I would find 
the means of breaking it; but in that they were much 
mistaken; for I had no thought of loving anything but 
the poverty of Jesus Christ. For some time yet, the 


228 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GTJYON. 


Father acted with caution towards me. He wrote me 
some letters, which he addressed to the Bishop of 
Geneva, and they agreed so together, that he was the 
only person horn whom I received any letters, to which 
I returned very moving answers; yet he, instead of 
being touched with them, became only more irritated 
against me. 

The bishop continued to treat me with a show of 
respect; and yet at the same time he wrote to many 
persons at Paris, as did also the sisters of the house, to 
all those persons of piety who had written letters to me, 
to bias them as much as possible against me, and to 
avoid the blame which ought naturally to fall upon 
them, for having so unworthily treated a person who 
had given up everything to devote herself to the service 
of that diocese; for after I had done this, and was not 
in a condition to return to France, they treated me 
extremely ill in every respect. There was scarcely any 
kind of false or fabulous story, likely to gain any credit, 
which they did not invent to cry me down. Beside my 
having no way to make the truth known in France, our 
Lord inspired me with a willingness to suffer every¬ 
thing, without justifying myself; so that in my case 
nothing was heard but condemnation, without any vin¬ 
dication. 

I was in this convent, and had seen Father La 
Combe no further than I have mentioned; yet they did 
not cease to publish, both of him and me, the most 
scandalous stories; a3 utterly false as anything could 
be, for he was then a hundred and fifty leagues from 
me. 

For some time I was ignorant of this. As I knew 
that all my letters were kept from me, I ceased to won- 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUTON. 


229 


der at receiving none. I lived in this house with my 
little daughter in a sweet repose, which was a very 
great favor of Providence; for my daughter had for¬ 
gotten her French, and among the little girls from the 
mountains had contracted a wild look and disagreeable 
manners. Her wit, sense and judgment, w’ere indeed 
surprising, and her disposition exceedingly good. 
There were only some little fits of peevishness, which 
they had caused to arise in her, through certain con¬ 
trarieties out of season, caresses ill applied, and for 
want of knowing the proper manner of education. But 
the Lord provided in regard to her, as I shall tell. 
During this time my mind was preserved calm and 
resigned to God. My silence was great; and for some 
time I had leisure to taste of and to enjoy the Divinity 
in my little cell. Afterwards that good sister almost 
continually interrupted me; and I answered everything 
she desired of me, both out of condescension, and from 
a principle which I had to obey like a child. 

When I was in my apartment, without any other 
director than our Lord by his Spirit, however favored 
therein, as soon as one of my little children came to 
knock at my door, he required me to admit the inter¬ 
ruption. He showed me that it is not the actions in 
themselves which please him, but the constant ready 
obedience to every discovery of his will, even in the 
minutest things, with such a suppleness, as not to stick 
to anything, but still to turn with him at every call. 
My soul was then, I thought, like a leaf, or a feather, 
which the wind moves what way soever it pleases; and 
the Lord never suffers a soul so dependent upon, and 
dedicated to him, to be deceived. 

Most men appear to me very unjust, who readily 


230 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


resign themselves to another man, and look upon that 
as prudence. They confide in men who are nothing, 
and boldly say, “ Such a person cannot be deceived.’' 
But if one speaks of a soul wholly resigned to God, 
which follows him faithfully, they cry aloud, “That 
person is deceived with his resignation.” Oh, my 
divine Love! Dost thou want either strength, fidelity, 
love, or wisdom, to conduct those who trust in thee, 
and who are thy dearest children? I have seen men 
bold enough to say, “Follow me, and you shall not be 
misled.” How sadly are those men misled themselves 
by their presumption! and how much sooner should 
I go to him who would be afraid of misleading me; 
who trusting neither to his learning nor experience, 
would rely upon God only! 

Our Lord showed me, in a dream, two ways by 
which souls steer their course, under the figure of two 
drops of water. The one appeared to me of an unpar¬ 
alleled beauty, brightness and purity; the other to have 
also a brightness, yet full of little fibres or streaks; 
both good to quench thirst; the former altogether 
pleasant, but the latter not so perfectly agreeable. By 
the former is represented the way of pure and naked 
faith, which pleases the Spouse much, it is so pure, so 
clear from all self-love. The way of emotions or gifts 
is not so; and yet it is that in which many enlightened 
souls walk, and into which they had drawn Father La 
Combe. But God showed me, that he had given him 
to me, to draw him into one more pure and perfect. I 
spoke before the sisters, he being present, of the way 
of faith, how much more glorious it was to God, and 
advantageous for the soul, than all those gifts, emotions 
and assurances, which ever cause us to live to self. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


231 


This discouraged them at first, and him also. I saw 
they were pained, as they have confessed to me since. 
I said no more of it at that time. But, as he is a per¬ 
son of great humility, he bid me unfold what I had 
wanted to say to him. I told him a part of my dream 
of the two drops of water; yet, he did not then enter 
into what I said, the time for it being not yet come; 
but when he came to Gex, to make the retreats, our 
Lord made known to me, as I was at prayer in the 
night, that I was his mother, and he my son. I told 
hi m the circumstances of a certain time past; and he 
recollected that it was the time of so extraordinary a 
touch with which the Lord favored him, that he was 
quite overwhelmed with contrition. This gave him 
such an interior renovation, that, having retired to 
pray, in a very ardent frame of mind, he was filled 
with joy, and seized with a powerful emotion, which 
made him enter into what I had told him of the way of 
faith. I give these things, as they happen to come to 
my remembrance, without carrying them on in order. 

After Easter, in the year 1682, the bishop came to 
Tonon. I had occasion to speak to him, which when I 
had done, our Lord so pointed my words that he 
appeared thoroughly convinced. But the persons who 
had influenced him before, returned to the charge. 
He then pressed me very much to return to Gex, and 
to take the place of Prioress. I gave him the reasons 
against it which I have mentioned before. I then 
appealed to him, as a bishop, desiring him to take care 
to regard nothing but God in what he should say to 
me. He was struck into a kind of confusion; and then 
said to me, “ Since you speak to me in such a manner, 
I cannot advise you to it. It is not for us to go con- 


232 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


trary to our vocations; but do good, I pray you, to this 
bouse.” I promised him to do it; and having received 
my pension, I sent them a hundred pistoles, with a 
design of doing the same as long as I should be in the 
diocese. The bishop said to me farther, “ I love Father 
La Combe. He is a true servant of God; and he has 
told me many things to which I was forced to assent; 
for I felt them in myself. But,” added he, “when I say 
so, they tell me I am mistaken, and that before the end 
of six months he will ran mad.” He told me, “he 
approved of the Nuns, which had been under the care 
and instruction of Father La Combe, finding them to 
come up fully to what he had heard of them.” From 
thence I took occasion to tell him “ that in everything 
he ought to refer himself to his own breast, or to the 
instructions there immediately received, and not to 
others.” He agreed to what I said, and acknowledged 
it to be right; and yet no sooner was he returned, than, 
so great was his weakness that he re-entered into his 
former dispositions. He sent the same ecclesiastic to 
tell me that I must engage myself at Gex; and that it 
was his sentiment. I answered, that I was determined 
to follow the counsel he had given me, when he had 
spoken to me as from God, since now they made him 
speak only as man. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


233 


CHAPTER VHL 

My soul was in a state of entire resignation, and 
very great content, in the midst of such violent tem¬ 
pests. Those persons came to tell me a hundred 
extravagant stories against Father La Combe. The 
more they said to me to his disadvantage, the more 
esteem I felt for him. I answered them, “Perhaps I 
may never see him again, but I shall ever be glad to 
do him justice. It is not he who hinders me from 
engaging at Gex. It is only because I know it to be 
none of my vocation.” They asked me, “Who could 
know that better than the Bishop ? ” They farther told 
me, “ I was under a deception, and my state was good 
for nothing.” This gave me no uneasiness, having 
referred to God the care of requiring, and of executing 
what he requires, and in whatever manner he de¬ 
mands it. 

A soul in this state seeks nothing for itself, but all 
for God. Some may say, “What, then, does this soul?” 
It leaves itself to be conducted by God’s providences 
and creatures. Outwardly, its life seems quite com¬ 
mon; inwardly, it is wholly resigned to the divine wilL 
The more everything appears adverse, and even des¬ 
perate, the more calm it is, in spite of the annoyance 
and pain of the senses and of the creatures, which, for 
some time after the new life, raise some clouds and 
obstructions, as I have already signified. But when 
the soul is entirely passed into its original Being, all 


234 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


these things no more cause any separation or partition. 
It finds no more of that impurity which came from 
self-seeking, from a human manner of acting, from an 
unguarded word, from any warm emotion or eagerness, 
which caused such a mist, as it then could neither 
prevent nor remedy, having so often experienced its 
own efforts to be useless, and even hurtful, as they did 
nothing else but still more and more defile it. There 
is in such case no other way or means of remedy, but 
in waiting till the Sun of Bighteousness dissipate those 
fogs, as the whole work of purification comes from God 
only. Afterwards this conduct becomes natural; and 
then the soul can say with the royal prophet, “ Though 
an host should encamp against me, my heart shall not 
fear. Though war should rise against me, in him will 
I confide.” For then, though assaulted on every side, 
it continues fixed as a rock. Having no will but for 
what God sees meet to order, be it what it may, high 
or low, great or small, sweet or bitter, honor, wealthy 
life, or any other object, what can shake its peace ? It 
is true, our nature is so crafty that it worms itself 
through everything; and a selfish sight is like the 
basilisk’s, it destroys. 

Trials are suited to the state of the soul, whether 
conducted by lights, gifts, or ecstasies, &c., or by the 
entire destruction of self in the way of naked faith. 
Both these states are found in St. Paul. He tells us, 
“And lest I should be exalted above measure, through 
the abundance of revelations, there was given to me a 
thorn in the flesh, the messenger of Satan to buffet 
me.” He prayed thrice, and it was said to him, “My 
grace is sufficient for thee; for my strength is made 
perfect in weakness.” He proved also another state 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


235 


when he thus expressed himself, “Oh, wretched man 
that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this 
death?” To which he replies, “I thank God, it is 
done through Jesus Christ our Lord.” It is he who 
conquers death in us through his own life. Then there 
is no longer a sting in death, or thorn in the flesh, capa¬ 
ble of paining or hurting any more. 

At first indeed, and for a pretty long time after, the 
soul sees that nature wants to take some part with it 
in its trials; and then its fidelity consists in withhold¬ 
ing it, without allowing it the least indulgence, till it 
leaves everything to go on with God in purity as it 
comes from him. Till the soul be in this state, it 
always sullies, by its own mixture, the operation of God; 
like those rivulets which contract the corruption of the 
places they pass through, but, flowing in a pure place, 
they then remain in the purity of their source. Unless 
God through experience, makes known his guidance to 
the soul, it can never comprehend it. 

Oh, if souls had courage enough to resign them¬ 
selves to the work of purification, without having any 
weak and foolish pity on themselves, what a noble, 
rapid and happy progress would they make! But few 
are willing to lose the earth. If they advance some 
steps, as soon as the sea is ruffled they are dejected; 
they cast anchor, and often desist from the prosecution 
of the voyage. Such disorders doth selfish interest 
and self-love occasion. It is of consequence not to look 
too much at one’s own state, not to lose courage, not to 
afford any nourishment to self-love, which is so deep- 
rooted, that its empire is not easily demolished. Often 
the idea which a man falsely conceives of the greatness 
of his advancement in divine experience, makes him 


236 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


want it to be seen and known of men, and to wish to 
see the very same perfection in others. He conceives 
too low ideas of others, and too high of his own state. 
Then it becomes a pain to him to converse with people 
too human; whereas, a soul truly mortified and resigned 
would rather converse with the worst, by the order of 
Providence, than with the best, of its own choice; 
wanting only to see or to speak to any as Providence 
directs, knowing well that all beside, far from helping, 
only hurt it, or at least prove very unfruitful to it. 

What, then, renders this soul so perfectly content ? 
It neither knows, nor wants to know, anything but 
what God calls it to. Herein it enjoys divine content, 
after a manner vast, immense, and independent of 
exterior events; more satisfied in its humiliation, and 
in the opposition of all creatures, by the order of Prov¬ 
idence, than on the throne of its own choice. 

It is here that the apostolic life begins. But do all 
reach that state? Very few, indeed, as far as I can 
comprehend. There is a way of lights, gifts and graces, 
a holy life in which the creature appears all admirable. 
As this life is more apparent, so it is more esteemed of 
such, at least, as have not the purest light. The souls 
which walk in the other path are often very little 
known, for a length of time, as it was with Jesus Christ 
himself, till the last years of his life. Oh, if I could 
express what I conceive of this state! But I can only 
stammer about it. 





















































































































/ ■ 























































THE LIFE OF MADAMF, GUYON. 


237 


CHAPTER IX. 

Being, as I have said, with the Ursulines at Tonon, 
after having spoken to the Bishop of Geneva, and see¬ 
ing how he changed, just as others turned him, I wrote 
to him and to Father La Mothe; but all my efforts 
were useless. The more I endeavored to accommodate 
matters, the more the ecclesiastic tried to confound 
them, hence I ceased to meddle. 

One day I was told that the ecclesiastic had won 
over the good girl whom I dearly loved. So strong a 
desire I had for her perfection that it had cost me 
much. I should not have felt the death of a child so 
much as her loss; at the same time I was told how to 
hinder it, but that human way of acting was repugnant 
to my inward sense; and these words arose in my 
heart, “ Except the Lord build the house,” &c. 

And indeed he provided herein himself, hindering 
her from yielding to this deceitful man, after a manner 
to be admired, and very thwarting to the designs of 
him and his associates. As long as I was with her she 
still seemed wavering and fearful; but oh, the infinite 
goodness of God, to preserve without our aid what 
without his we should inevitably lose! I was no sooner 
separated from her, but she became immovable. 

As for me, there scarcely passed a day but they 
treated me with new insults; their assaults came on me 
at unawares. The New Catholics, by the instigation of 
the Bishop of Geneva, the ecclesiastic, and the sisters at 


238 


THE LITE OT MADAME GUYON. 


Gex, stirred up all the persons of piety against me. I 
had but little uneasiness on my own account. If I 
could have had it at all, it would have been on account 
of Father La Combe, whom they vilely aspersed, though 
he was absent. They even made use of his absence, to 
overset all the good he had done in the country, by his 
missions and pious labors, which were inconceivably 
great At first I was too ready to vindicate him, think¬ 
ing it justice to do it. I did not do it at all for myself; 
and our Lord showed me that I must cease doing it 
for him, in order to leave him to be more thoroughly 
annihilated; because from thence he would draw a 
greater glory, than ever he had done from his own 
reputation 

Every day they invented some new slander. No 
kind of stratagem, or malicious device in their power, 
did they omit. They came to surprise and ensnare me 
in my words; but God guarded me so well, that therein 
they only discovered their own malevolence. I had no 
consolation from the creatures. She who had the care 
of my daughter behaved roughly to me. Such are the 
persons who regulate themselves only by their gifts and 
emotions. When they do not see things succeed, and 
as they regard them only by their success, and are not 
willing to have the affront of their pretensions being 
thought uncertain, and liable to mistake, they seek 
without for supports. As for me who pretended to 
nothing, I thought all succeeded well, inasmuch as all 
tended to self-annihilation On another side, the maid 
I had brought, and who stayed with me, grew tired 
out. Wanting to go back again, she stunned me with 
her complaints, thwarting and chiding me from morn¬ 
ing till night, upbraiding me with what I had left, and 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


239 


coming to a place where I was good for nothing. I 
was obliged to bear all her ill-humor and the clamor of 
her tofLgue. 

My own brother, Father La Mothe, wrote to me 
that I was a rebel to my bishop, staying in his diocese 
only to give him pain. Indeed, I saw there was noth¬ 
ing for me to do here, so long as the bishop should be 
against me. I did what I could to gain his good will, 
but this was impossible on any other terms than the 
engagement he demanded, and that I knew to be my 
duty not to do. This, joined to the poor education of 
my daughter, affected my heart. When any glimmer¬ 
ing of hope appeared, it soon vanished; and I gained 
strength from a sort of despair. 

During this time Father La Combe was at Rome, 
where he was received with so much honor, and his 
doctrine was so highly esteemed, that the Sacred Con¬ 
gregation was pleased to take his sentiments on some 
points of doctrine, which were found to be so just, and 
so clear, that it followed them. Meanwhile the sister 
would take no care of my daughter, and when I took 
care of her, she was displeased. I was not able, by any 
means, to prevail on her to promise me that she would 
try to prevent her contracting bad habits. However, I 
hoped that Father La Combe, at his return, would 
bring everything into order, and renew my consolation. 
Yet I left it all to God. 

About July, 1682, my sister, who was an Ursuline, 
got permission to come to the waters. She brought a 
maid with her, which was very seasonable. My sister 
assisted in the education of my daughter, but she had 
frequent jarring with her tutoress—I labored but in 
vain for peace. By some instances which I met with 


240 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


in this place, I saw clearly that it is not great gifts 
which sanctify, unless they be accompanied with a pro¬ 
found humility; and that death to everything is infin¬ 
itely more beneficial; for there was one who thought 
herself at the summit of perfection, but has discovered 
since, by the trials which have befallen her, that she 
was yet very far from it. O, my God, how true it is 
that we may have of thy gifts, and yet be very imper¬ 
fect, and full of ourselves! 

How very straight is the gate which leads to a life 
in God! how little one must be to pass through it, it 
being nothing else but death to self! But when we 
have passed through it, what enlargement do we find! 
David saith, (Psalm xviii. 19.) “ He brought me forth 
into a ]arge place.” And it was through humiliation 
and abasement that he was brought thither. 

Father La Combe, on his arrival, came to see me. 
The first thing he said was about his own weakness, 
and that I must return. He added, “ that all seemed 
dark, and there was no likelihood that God would 
make use of me in this country.” The Bishop of Gen¬ 
eva wrote to Father La Mothe to get me to return, and 
he wrote to me accordingly to do it. The first Lent 
which I passed with the Ursulines, I had a very great 
pain in my eyes; for that same imposthume which I 
formerly had between the eye and the nose, returned 
upon me three times. The bad air, and the noisome 
chamber which I was in, contributed hereto. My head 
was frightfully swelled, but great was my inward joy. 
It was strange to see so many good creatures, who did 
not know me, love and pity me; and all the rest 
enraged against me, and most of them on reports 
entirely false, neither knowing me, nor why they so 


THE LIFE OF MADAUfF. GUYON. 


241 


hated me. To swell the stream of affliction yet more, 
my daughter fell sick and was likely to die; there was 
but little hope of her recovery, when her mistress also 
fell ill My soul, leaving all to God, continued to rest 
in a quiet and peaceable habitation. Oh principal and 
sole object of my love! Were there never any other 
reward of what little services we do, or of the marks of 
homage we render thee, than this fixed state above the 
vicissitudes in the world, is it not enough ? The senses 
indeed are sometimes ready to start aside, and to run 
off like truants; but every trouble flies before the soul 
which is entirely subjected to God. By speaking of a 
fixed state, I do not mean one which can never decline 
or fall, that being only in heaven. I call it fixed and 
permanent, compared with the states which have pre¬ 
ceded it, which were full of vicissitudes and variations. 
I do not exclude a state of suffering in the senses, or 
arising from superficial impurity, which remains to be 
done away, and which one may compare to refined but 
tarnished gold. It has no more need to be purified in 
the fire, having undergone that operation; but needs 
only to be burnished. So it seemed to be with me at 
that time. 


242 


TKB LIFE OF MADAMS GUYQH. 


CHAPTER X. 

My daughter had the small-pox. They sent for a 
physician from Geneva, who gave her over. Father La 
Combe then came in to visit, and pray with her. He 
gave her his blessing; and soon after she wonderfully 
recovered. The persecutions of the New Catholics 
against me continued and increased; yet, for all that, I 
did not fail to do them all the good in my power. My 
daughter’s mistress came often to converse with me, 
but much imperfection appeared in her discourses, 
though they were on religious subjects. Father La 
Combe regulated many things in regard to my daugh¬ 
ter, which vexed her mistress so much, that her former 
friendship was turned into coldness. She had grace, 
but suffered nature too frequently to prevail. I told 
her my thought on her faults, as I was inwardly directed 
to do; but though, at that time, God enlightened her 
to see the truth of what I said, and she has been more 
enlightened since, yet the return of her coldness 
towards me ensued upon it. The debates between her 
and my sister grew more tart and violent. My daugh¬ 
ter, who was only six years and a half old, by her little 
dexterities, found a way to please them both, choosing 
to do her exercises twice over, first with the one, then 
with the other, which continued not long; for as her 
mistress generally neglected her, doing things at one 
time, and leaving them at another, she was reduced to 
learn only what my sister and I taught her. Indeed 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


243 


the changeableness of my sister was so excessive, that, 
without great grace, it was hard to suit one’s self to it; 
and yet she appeared to me to surmount herself in 
many things. Formerly, I could scarce bear her man¬ 
ners; but I have since loved everything in God, who 
has given me a very great facility to bear the faults of 
my neighbor, with a readiness to please and oblige 
everyone, and such a compassion for their calamities or 
distresses as I never had before. 

I have no difficulty to use condescension with 
imperfect persons; I should be secretly smitten if I 
failed therein; but with souls of grace I cannot bear 
this human manner of acting, nor suffer long and fre¬ 
quent conversationa It is a thing which few are cap¬ 
able of. Some religious persons say that these conver¬ 
sations are of great service. I believe it may be true 
tor some, but not for all; for there is a period wherein 
it hurts, especially when it is of our own choice; the 
human inclination corrupting everything. The same 
things which would be profitable, when God, by his 
Spirit, draws to them, become quite otherwise, when 
we of ourselves enter into them. This appears to me 
bo clear, that I prefer being a whole day with the worst 
of persons, in obedience to God, before being one hour 
with the best, only from my own choice and inclina¬ 
tion. 

The order of divine providence makes the whole 
rule and conduct of a soul entirely devoted to God. 
While it faithfully gives itself up thereto, it will do all 
things right and well, and will have everything it wants, 
without its own care; because God in whom it confides, 
makes it every moment do what he requires, and fur¬ 
nishes the occasions proper for it. God loves what is 


244 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


of his own order, and of his own will, not according to 
the idea of the merely rational or even enlightened 
man; for he hides these persons from the eyes of 
others, in order to preserve them in that hidden purity 
for himself. 

But how comes it that such souls commit any faults; 
because they are not faithful, in giving themselves up 
to the present moment. Often too eagerly bent on 
something, or wanting to be over-faithful, they slide 
into many faults, which they can neither foresee nor 
avoid. Does God then leave souls which confide in 
him ? Surely not. Sooner would he work a miracle 
to hinder them from falling, if they were resigned 
enough to him. They may be resigned as to the gen¬ 
eral will, and yet fail as to the present moment. Being 
out of the order of God, they fall. They renew such 
falls as long as they continue out of that divine order. 
When they return into it, all goes right and well. 

Most assuredly if such souls were faithful enough, 
not to let any of the moments of the order of God slip 
over, they would not thus fall. This appears to me as 
clear as the day. As a dislocated bone out of the place 
in which the economy of divine wisdom had fixed it> 
gives continual pain till restored to its proper order, so 
the many troubles in life, come from the soul not abid¬ 
ing in its place, and not being content with the order 
of God, and what is afforded therein from moment to 
moment. If men rightly knew this secret, they would 
all be fully content and satisfied. But alas! instead of 
being content with what they have, they are ever wish¬ 
ing for what they have not; while the soul, which enters 
into the divine light begins to be in paradise. What 
is it that makes paradise ? It is the order of God, 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


245 


which renders all the saints infinitely content, though 
very unequal in glory! From whence comes it that so 
many poor indigent persons are so contented, and that 
princes and potentates, who abound to profusion, are 
so wretched and unhappy? It is because the man who 
is not content with what he has, will never be without 
craving desires; and he who is the prey of an unsatis¬ 
fied desire, can never be content. 

All souls have more or less of strong and ardent 
desires, except those whose will is lost in the will of 
God. Some have good desires, so as to suffer martyr¬ 
dom for God; others thirst for the salvation of their 
neighbor, and some pant to see God in glory. All this 
is excellent. But he who rests in the divine will, 
although he may be exempt from all these desires, is 
infinitely more content, and glorifies God more. It is 
written concerning Jesus Christ, when he drove out of 
the temple those who profaned it, “ The zeal of thine 
house hath eaten me up.” John ii. 17. It was in that 
moment of the order of God, that these words had 
their effect. How many times had Jesus Christ been in 
the temple without such a conduct ? Does not he occa¬ 
sionally say of himself, that his hour was not yet come? 



246 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


t* 


CHAPTER XL 


After Father La Combe was returned from Rome, 
well approved, and furnished with testimonials of his 
life and doctrine, he performed his functions of preach¬ 
ing and confessing as usual. I gave him an account of 
what I had done and suffered in his absence, and what 
care God had taken of all my concerns. I saw his 
providence incessantly extended to the very smallest 
things. After having been several months without any 
news of my papers, when some pressed me to write, 
and blamed my neglect, an invisible hand held me 
back; my peace and confidence were great herein. I 
received a letter from the ecclesiastic at home, which 
informed me that he had orders to come and see me, 
and bring me my papers. I had sent to Paris for a 
pretty considerable bundle of things for my daughter. 
I heard they were lost on the lake, and could learn no 
further tidings about them. 

But I gave myself no trouble, I always thought they 
would be found. The man who had taken the charge 
of them made a search after them a whole month, 
in all the environs, without hearing any news about 
them. At the end of three months they were brought 
to me, having been found in the house of a poor man, 
who had not opened them, nor knew who brought them 
there. Once I had sent for all the money which was 
to serve me a whole year; the person who had been to 
receive cash for the bill of exchange, having put that 


THE LIFE OF MADAM!?, GUYON. 


247 


money in two bags on horseback, forgot that it was 
there, and gave the horse to a little boy to lead. The 
money fell from the horse in the middle of the market 
at Geneva. That instant I arrived, coming on the 
other side, and having alighted from my litter, the first 
thing I found was my money, in walking over it. 
"What was surprising, a great throng was in this place, 
and not one had perceived it. Many such things have 
attended me, which, to avoid prolixity, I pass by. 
These may suffice to show the continual protection of 
God. 

The Bishop of Geneva continued to persecute me. 
When he wrote to me, it was with politeness and 
thanks for my charities at Gex; while at the same time 
he said to others, “I gave nothing to that house.” He 
wrote against me to the TJrsulines with whom I lived, 
charging them to hinder me from having any confer¬ 
ences with Father La Combe, for fear of bad conse¬ 
quences. The superior of the house, a man of merit, 
and the prioress, as well as the community, were so 
irritated at this, that they could not forbear testifying 
it to himself. He then excused himself with a pre¬ 
tended respect, saying, he did not mean it that way. 
They wrote to him, “that I did not see the Father but 
at the confessional, and not in conference; that they 
were so much edified by me, as to think themselves 
happy in having me, and to esteem it a great favor 
from God.” What they said out of pure charity was 
not pleasing to the Bishop, who, seeing they loved me 
in this house, said, that I won over everybody to myself 
and that he wished I were out of the diocese. Though 
I knew all this, and these good sisters were troubled 
at it, I could have no trouble by reason of the calm 


248 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


establishment which I was in, the will of God render¬ 
ing everything equal to me. The creatures, however 
unreasonable or passionate they appear, not being re¬ 
garded in themselves but in God; for an habitual faith 
causes everything to be seen in God without distinc¬ 
tion. Thus, when I see poor souls so ruffled for dis¬ 
courses in the air, so uneasy for explanations, I pity 
them for their want of light. They have reasons, I 
know, which self-love causes to appear very just. 

To relieve myself a little from the fatigue of con¬ 
tinual conversation, as my body grew weak, I desired 
Father La Combe to allow me a retreat. It was then 
that I let myself be consumed by love all the day long. 
Then also I perceived the quality of a spiritual mother; 
for the Lord gave me what I cannot express for the 
perfection of souls. This I could not hide from Father 
La Combe. It seemed to me as if I entered into the 
inmost recesses of his heart. Our Lord showed me he 
was his servant, chosen among a thousand, singularly 
to honor him; but that he would lead him through 
total death, and the entire destruction of the old man; 
that he would have me contribute thereto, and be in¬ 
strumental to cause him to walk in the way in which 
he had led me first; in order that I might be in a con¬ 
dition to direct others therein, and to tell them the 
way through which I have passed; that the Lord would 
have us to be conformed, and to become both one in 
him; that though my soul was more advanced now, yet 
he should one day pass beyond it, with a bold and 
rapid flight. God knows how I rejoiced herein, and 
with what joy I would see my spiritual children surpass 
their mother in glory. 

In this retreat I felt a strong propensity to write, 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


249 


but resisted it till I fell sick. I had nothing to write 
about, not one idea to begin with. It was a divine 
impulse, with such a fulness of grace as was hard to 
contain, or bear. I opened this disposition of mine to 
Father La Combe. He answered me, “that he had a 
strong impulse to command me to write, but had not 
dared to do it yet, on account of my weakness.” I told 
him, “ that weakness was the effect of my resistance^ 
and I believed it would, through my writing, go off 
again. He asked me, “ But what is it you will write ? ’> 
I replied, ‘“I know nothing of it, nor desire to know, 
leaving it entirely to God to direct me.” He ordered 
me to do so. At my taking the pen I knew not the 
first word I should write; but when I began, suitable 
matter flowed copiously, nay, impetuously; and as I 
was writing I was relieved and grew better. I wrote 
an entire treatise on the interior path of faith, under 
the comparison of torrents, or of streams and rivers; 
and though it is pretty long, the comparison in it holds 
out to the end. 

As the way, wherein God now conducted Father 
La Combe, was very different from that in which he 
had formerly walked; which had been all light, knowl¬ 
edge, ardor, assurance, sentiment; but now the poor, 
low, despised path of faith, and of nakedness; he found 
it very hard to submit thereto, which caused me no 
little suffering. Who could express what it has cost 
my heart before he was formed according to the will of 
God ? Meanwhile, the possession which the Lord had 
of my soul became every day stronger, insomuch that 
I passed whole days without being able to pronounce 
one word; for the Lord was pleased to make me pass 
wholly into him by an entire internal transformation. 


250 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


He became more and more the absolute master of my 
heart, to such a degree as not to leave me a movement 
of my own, in order that I might be continually supple 
to every intimation of his will. This state did not hin¬ 
der me from condescending to my sister, and the others 
in the house. Nevertheless, the useless things with 
which they were taken up could not interest me. 
That was what induced me to ask leave to make a 
retreat, to let myself be possessed of him who holds me 
so closely united to himself after an ineffable manner. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYQN. 


251 


CHAPTER YTT. 

I had at that time so ardent a desire for the perfec¬ 
tion of Father La Combe, and to see him thoroughly 
die to himself, that I could have wished him all the 
crosses and afflictions imaginable, that might conduce 
to this great and blessed end. "Whenever he was 
unfaithful, or looked at things in any other light than 
the true one, viz. to tend to this death of self, I felt 
myself on the rack, which, as I had till then been so 
indifferent, very much surprised me. To the Lord I 
made my complaint, who graciously encouraged me, 
both on this subject and on that entire dependence on 
himself which he gave me, which was such that I was 
like a new bora infant. 

My sister had brought me a maid, whom God was 
willing to give me, to fashion her according to his will, 
not without some crucifixion to myself; for I believe it 
never is to fall out, that our Lord will give me any 
persons without giving them wherewith to make me 
suffer for them, whether it be for the purpose of draw¬ 
ing them into a spiritual life, or never to leave me 
without the cross. She was one on whom the Lord 
had conferred very singular graces. She was in high 
reputation in the country, where she passed for a saint. 
Our Lord brought her to me, to let her see the differ¬ 
ence between the sanctity conceived and comprised in 
those gifts, with which she was endowed, and that 
which is obtained by our entire destruction, even by 
8 


252 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


the loss of those very gifts, and of all that raised us in 
the esteem of men. Our Lord had given her the same 
dependence on me, as I had in regard to Father La 
Combe, nevertheless with some difference. 

This girl fell grievously sick. I was willing to give 
her all the assistance in my power, but I found I had 
nothing to do but to command her bodily sickness, or 
the disposition of her mind; and all that I said was 
done. It was then that I learned what it was to com¬ 
mand by the Word, and to obey by the Word. It was 
Jesus Christ in me equally commanding and obeying. 

She, however, continued sick for sometime. One 
day, after dinner, I was moved to say to her, “ Rise and 
be no longer sick.” She arose and was cured. The 
nuns were very much astonished; and as they knew 
nothing of what had passed, but saw her walking, who 
in the morning had appeared to be in the last extrem¬ 
ity, they attributed her disorder to a vivid imagina¬ 
tion. 

I have at sundry times experienced, and felt in 
myself, how much God respects the freedom of man, 
and even demands his free concurrence; for when I 
said, “Be healed,” or, “Be free from your troubles,” if 
such persons acquiesced therein, the Word was effica¬ 
cious, and they were healed. If they doubted, or 
resisted, though under fair pretexts, as saying, “ I shall 
be healed when it pleases God, I will not be healed till 
he wills it;” or, in the way of despair, “ I cannot be 
healed; I will not quit my condition,” then the Word 
had no effect. I felt in myself, that the divine virtue 
retired in me. I experienced what our Lord said, 
when the woman afflicted with the issue of blood 
touched him, and he instantly asked, “Who touched 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


253 


me?” The apostles said, “Master, the multitude 
throng thee, and press thee; and sayest thou, Who 
touched me?” But he replied, “It is because virtue 
hath gone out of me.” (Luke viii. 45, 46.) Jesus 
Christ had caused that healing virtue to flow, through 
me, by means of his Word; but when that virtue met 
not with a correspondence in the subject, I felt it sus¬ 
pended in its source, which gave me some pain. I 
should be, as it were, displeased with those persons; 
but when there was no resistance, but a full acquies¬ 
cence, this divine virtue had its full effect. One can¬ 
not conceive the delicacy of this healing virtue. 
Although it has so much power over things inanimate, 
yet the least thing in man either restrains it, or stops 
it entirely. 

There was a good nun much afflicted, and under a 
violent temptation. She went to declare her case to a 
sister whom she thought very spiritual, and in a condi¬ 
tion capable of assisting her. But far from finding 
succor here, she was very much discouraged and cast 
down. The other despised and repulsed her, and treat¬ 
ing her with contempt and rigor, said, “Don’t come 
near me, since you are that way.” This poor girl in a 
frightful distress came to me, thinking herself undone, 
on account of what the sister had said to her. I con¬ 
soled her, and our Lord relieved her immediately; but 
I could not then forbear telling her, “that assuredly 
the other would be punished, and would fall into a 
state worse than hers.” The sister who had used her 
in such a manner came also to me, highly pleased with 
herself in what she had done, saying, she abhorred such 
tempted creatures; that as for herself, she was proof 
against such sorts of temptations, and that she never 


254 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


had a bad thought.” I said to her, “My sister, from 
the friendship I have for you I wish you the pain of 
her who spoke to you, and even one still more violent.” 
She answered me haughtily, “If you were to ask it 
from God for me, and I ask of him the contrary, I 
believe I shall be heard at least as soon as you.” I 
answered her with great firmness, “ If it be only my 
own interests which I ask, I shall not be heard; but if 
it be those of God only, and yours too, I shall be heard 
sooner than you are aware.” That very night she fell 
into so violent a temptation that one equal to it has 
seldom been known, and she continued in it a fort¬ 
night It was then she had ample occasion to ack¬ 
nowledge her own weakness, and what she would be 
without grace. She conceived at first a violent hatred 
for me, saying, that I was the cause of her pain. But 
it served her, as the clay did to enlighten him who had 
been bom blind. She soon saw very well what had 
brought on her so terrible a state. 

I fell sick, even to extremity. This sickness proved 
a means to cover the great mysteries which it pleased 
God to operate in me. Scarce ever was a disorder more 
extraordinary, or of longer continuance in its excess. 
Several times during its continuance, I saw in 
dreams Father La Mothe raising persecutions against 
me. Our Lord let me know that this would be the 
case, and that Father La Combe would forsake me in 
the time of persecution. This I wrote to him, and it 
disquieted him greatly; because he thought his heart 
was united to the will of God, and too desirious of 
serving me, to admit such desertion; and yet it has 
since been found quite tme; though not with his will, 
but from necessity, having been himself persecuted the 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


255 


first. He was now to preach during Lent, and was so 
much followed, that people came five leagues, to pass 
several days there for the benefit of his ministry. I 
heard he was so sick that he was thought like to die, 
and prayed to the Lord to restore his health, and ena¬ 
ble him to preach to the people, who were longing to 
hear him. My prayer was heard, and he soon recov¬ 
ered, and resumed his pious labors. 

During this extraordinary sickness, which contin¬ 
ued more than six months, the Lord gradually taught 
me that there was another manner of conversing 
among souls wholly his, than by speech. Thou madest 
me conceive, O divine Word, that as thou art ever 
speaking and operating in a soul, though therein thou 
appearest in profound silence; so there was also a way 
of communication in thy creatures, in an ineffable 
silence. I learned then a language which before had 
been unknown to me. I gradually perceived, when 
Father La Combe entered, that I could speak no more; 
and that there was formed in my soul the same kind of 
silence towards him, as was formed in it in regard to 
God. I comprehended that God was willing to show 
me that men might in this life learn the language of 
angels. I was gradually reduced to speak to him only 
in silence. It was then that we understood each other 
in God, after a manner unutterable and all divine. 
Our hearts spoke to each other, communicating a grace 
which no words can express. It was like a new coun¬ 
try, both for him and for me, but so divine, that I can¬ 
not describe it. At first this was done in a manner so 
perceptible, that is to say, God penetrated us with 
himself in a manner so pure and so sweet, that we 
passed hours in this profound silence, always communi- 


256 


THE LITE OP MADAME GUYON. 


cative, without being able to utter one word. It waa 
in this that we learned, by our own experience, the 
operations of the heavenly Word to reduce souls into 
unity with itself, and what purity one may arrive at in 
this life. It was given me to communicate this way to 
other good souta, but with this difference that I did 
nothing but communicate to them the grace with 
which they were filled, while near me, in this sacred 
silence, which infused into them an extraordinary 
strength and grace; but I received nothing from them; 
whereas with Father La Combe there was a flow and 
return of communication of grace, which he received 
from me, and I from him, in the greatest purity. 

In this long malady the love of God, and of him 
alone, made up my whole occupation, I seemed so 
entirely lost in him, as to have no sight of myself at all. 
It seemed as if my heart never came out of that divine 
ocean, having been drawn into it through deep humili¬ 
ations. Oh happy loss, which is the consummation of 
bliss, though operated through crosses and through 
deaths! 

Jesus was then living in me; and I lived no more. 
These words were imprinted in me, as a real state into 
which I must enter, (Matt. viii. 20.) “The foxes have 
holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the Son 
of man hath not where to lay his head.” This I have 
since experienced in all its extent, having no sure 
abode, no refuge among my friends, who were ashamed 
of me, and openly renounced me, when universally 
decried; nor among my relations, most of whom 
declared themselves my adversaries, and were my 
greatest persecutors; while others looked on me with 
contempt and indignation. I might as David say, “ For 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUT ON. 


257 


thy sake I have borne reproach; shame hath covered 
my face; I am become a stranger to my brethren, and 
an alien unto my mother’s children; a reproach to men, 
and despised of the people.” 

He showed me all the world in a rage against me, 
without any one daring to appear for me; and assured 
me in the ineffable silence of his eternal Word, that he 
would give me vast numbers of children, which I should 
bring forth by the cross. I left it to him to do with 
me whatever he pleased, esteeming my whole and sole 
interest to be placed entirely in his divine WilL He 
gave me to see how the devil was going to stir up an 
outrageous persecution against prayer, yet it should 
prove the source of the same prayer, or rather the 
means which God would make use of to establish it. 
He gave me to see farther how he would guide me into 
the wilderness, where he would cause me to be 
nourished for a time. The wings, which were to bear 
me thither, were the resignation of my whole self to his 
holy will, and the love of the same will I think I am 
at present in that wilderness, separated from the whole 
world in my imprisonment; and I see already accom¬ 
plished in part what was then shown me. Can I ever 
express the mercies which my God has bestowed on 
me? No; they must ever remain in himself, being of 
a nature not to be described, by reason of their purity 
and immensity. 

In this sickness I was often to all appearance at the 
point of death. I fell into convulsions from violent 
pains which lasted a long time with violence. Father 
La Combe administered the sacrament to me, the Prio¬ 
ress of the Ursulines having desired him to do it. I 
was well satisfied to die, as was he also in the expecta- 


258 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


tion of my departure. For, being united in God after 
a manner so pure, and so spiritual, death could not 
separate us, but, on the contrary, would have more 
closely united us. Father La Combe, who was on his 
knees at my bed-side, remarking the change of my 
countenance, and how my eyes faded, seemed ready to 
give me up, when God inspired him to lift up his 
hands, and with a strong voice, which was heard by all 
who were in my chamber, at that time almost full, to 
command death to relinquish its hold. Instantly it 
seemed to be stopped; and thus God was pleased won¬ 
derfully to raise me up again; yet for a long time I 
continued extremely weak, during all which our Lord 
still gave me new testimonies of his love. How many 
times was he pleased to make use of his servant to 
restore me to life, when I was almost on the very point 
of expiring! As they saw that my sickness and pain 
did not entirely end, they judged that the air of the 
lake on which the convent was situated, was very pre¬ 
judicial to my constitution. They concluded that it 
would be necessary for me to remove. 

During my indisposition, our Lord put it into the 
heart of Father La Combe to establish an hospital in 
this place for the poor people seized with maladies, 
and to institute also a committee or congregation of 
ladies, to furnish such as could not leave their families, 
to go to the hospital, with the means of subsistence 
during their illness, after the manner of France, there 
not having been yet any institution of this kind in that 
country. Willingly did I enter into it; and without 
any other fund than Providence, and some useless 
rooms which a gentleman of the town gave us, we began 
it. We dedicated it to the holy Child Jesus, and he 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


259 


was pleased to give the first beds to it from the earnest- 
pence of my pension, which belong to him. He gave 
such a blessing thereto, that several other persons 
joined us in this charity. In a short time there were 
nearly twelve beds in it, and three persons of great piety 
gave themselves to this hospital to serve it, who, with¬ 
out any salary, consecrated themselves to the service of 
the poor patients. I supplied them with ointments and 
medicines, which were freely given to such of the poor 
people of the town as had need of them. These good 
ladies were so hearty in the cause, that, through their 
charity, and the care of the young women, this hospi¬ 
tal was very well maintained and served. These ladies 
joined together also in providing for the sick, who 
could not go to the hospital; and I gave them some 
little regulations such as I had observed when in 
France, which they continued to keep up with tender¬ 
ness and love. 

All these little things, which cost but little, and 
which owed all their success to the blessing which God 
gave them, drew upon us new persecutions. The 
Bishop of Geneva was offended with me more than 
ever, especially in seeing that these small matters ren¬ 
dered me beloved. He said, “I won over everybody.” 
He openly declared, “ that he could not bear me in his 
diocese,” though I had done therein nothing but good, 
or rather God by me. He extended the persecution to 
those good religious women who had been my assist¬ 
ants. The prioress in particular had her own share to 
bear, though it did not last long; for as I was obliged, 
on account of the air, to remove, after having been 
there about two years and a hah, they were then more 
in peace and quietness. On another side, my sister was 


260 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


very weary of this house; and as the season for the 
waters approached, they took occasion from thence to 
send her away, with the maid which I brought with 
me, who had molested me exceedingly in my late ill¬ 
ness. I only kept her whom Providence had sent me 
by means of my sister; and I have ever thought that 
God had ordered my sister’s journey hither, only to 
bring her to me, as one chosen of him and proper for 
the state which it was his pleasure to cause me to 
bear. 

While I was yet indisposed, the Ursulines, with the 
Bishop of Verceil, earnestly requested the Father-gen¬ 
eral of the Bamabites, to seek among the religious, a 
man of merit, piety and learning, in whom he might 
place confidence, and who might serve him for a pre¬ 
bend and a counsellor. At first he cast his eyes on 
Father La Combe; yet before he absolutely engaged 
him with the said bishop, he wrote to him, to know, 
“whether he had any objection thereto.” Father La 
Combe replied, “that he had no other will but that of 
obeying him, and that he might command him herein 
as he should think best in the case.” He gave me an 
account of this, and that we were going to be entirely 
separated. I was glad to find that our Lord would 
employ him, under a bishop who knew him, and would 
be likely to do him justice. Yet it was some time 
before he went, matters not being all arranged. 


THE LIFE OF MADAMtt GUYON. 


261 


CHAPTEB XITL 

I then went off from the Ursulines, and they sought 
for a house for me at a distance from the lake. There 
was but one to be found empty, which had the look of 
the greatest poverty. It had no chimney but in the 
kitchen, through which one was obliged to pass to go 
to the chamber. I took my daughter with me, and 
gave up the largest chamber for her, and the maid 
who was to take care of her. I was lodged in a little 
hole, on straw, to which I went up by a ladder. As 
we had no other furniture but our beds, which were 
quite plain and homely, I bought some straw chairs 
and some Dutch earthen and wooden ware. Never did 
I enjoy a greater content than in this little hole, which 
appeared so very conformable to the state of Jesus 
Christ. I fancied everything better on wood than on 
plate. I laid in all my provisions, hoping to stay there 
a long time; but the devil did not leave me long in 
such sweet peace. It would be difficult for me to tell 
the persecutions which were stirred up against me. 
They threw stones in at my windows, which fell at my 
feet. I had put my little garden in order. They came 
in the night, tore it all up, broke down the arbor, and 
overturned everything in it, as if it had been ravaged 
by soldiers. They came to abuse me at the door all 
night long, making such a racket as if they were going 
to break it open. These persons have since told who 
the person was that put them on such work. 


262 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


Though from time to time I continued my charities 
at Gex, I was not the less persecuted for it. They 
offered one person a warrant to compel Father La 
Combe to stay at Tonon, thinking he would otherwise 
be a support to me in the persecution, but we prevent¬ 
ed it. I knew not then the designs of God, and that 
he would soon draw me from that poor solitary, place, 
in which I enjoyed a sweet and solid satisfaction, not¬ 
withstanding the abuses from without. I thought 
myself happier here than any sovereign on earth. It 
was for me like a nest and a place of repose; and 
Christ was willing that I should be like him. The 
devil, as I have said, irritated my persecutors. They 
sent to desire me to go out of the diocese. All the 
good which the Lord had caused me to do in it was 
condemned, more than the greatest crimes. Crimes 
they tolerated, but me they could not endure. All this 
while I never had any uneasiness or repentance for my 
having left all; not that I was assured of having done 
the will of God therein. Such an assurance would 
have been too much for me. But I could neither see 
nor regard anything, receiving everything alike from 
the hand of God, who directed and disposed of these 
crosses for me either in justice or in mercy. 

The Marchioness of Prunai, sister of the chief Sec¬ 
retary of State to his Boyal Highness (the Duke of 
Savoy) and his prime minister, had sent an express 
from Turin, in the time of my illness, to invite me to 
come to reside with her; and to let me know that, 
“being so persecuted as I was in this diocese, I should 
find an asylum with her; that during that time things 
might grow better; that when they should be well dis¬ 
posed she would return with me, and join me with a 



THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


263 


Mend of mine from Paris, who was willing also to 
come to labor there, according to the will of God.” I 
was not at that time in a condition to execute what she 
desired of me, and expected to continue with the Ursu- 
lines till things should change. She then wrote to me 
about it no more. This lady is one of extraordinary 
piety, who had quitted the splendor and noise of the 
Court, for the more silent satisfaction of a retired life, 
and to give herself up to God. With an eminent share 
of natural advantages, she has continued a widow 
twenty-two years; and has refused every.offer of mar¬ 
riage, to consecrate herself to our Lord entirely and 
without any reserve. When she knew that I had been 
obliged to leave the Ursulines, yet without knowing 
anything of the manner in which I had been treated, 
she procured a letter to oblige Father La Combe to 
go to pass some weeks at Turin, for her own benefit, 
and to bring me with him thither, where I should find 
a refuge. All this she did unknown to us; and, as she 
has told us since, a superior force moved her to do it, 
without knowing the cause thereof. If she had delib¬ 
erately reflected on it, being such a prudent lady, she 
probably would not have done it; because the persecu¬ 
tions, which the Bishop of Geneva procured us in that 
place, cost her more than a little of humiliations. Our 
Lord permitted him to pursue me, after a surprising 
manner, into all the places I have been in, without 
giving me any relaxation; though I never did him any 
harm, but on the contrary, would have laid down my 
life for the good of his diocese. 

As this fell out without any design on our part, we, 
without hesitation, believed it was the will of God; 
and thought it might be the means of his appointment 


264 


THE LIFE OF mat>amw GTJYON. 


to draw us out of the reproach and persecution we 
labored under, seeing myself chased on the one side, 
and desired on the other. It was therefore concluded 
that Father La Combe should conduct me to Turin, 
and that he should go from thence to Verceil. 

Beside him, I took with me a religious man of 
merit, who had taught theology for fourteen years past, 
to take away from our enemies all cause for slander. 
I also took with me a boy whom I had brought out of 
France. They took horses, and I hired a carriage for 
my daughter, my chambermaid and myself. But all 
precautions are useless, when it pleases God to permit 
them to be frustrated. Our adversaries immediately 
wrote to Paris. A hundred ridiculous stories were 
circulated about this journey; comedies were acted on 
it, things invented at pleasure, and as false as anything 
in the world could be. It was my brother, Father de 
la Mothe, who was so active in uttering all this stuff. 
Had he believed it to be true, he ought out of charity 
to have concealed it; and much more, being so very 
false. They said, “ I was gone all alone with Father 
La Combe, strolling about the country, from province 
to province,” with many such fables, as weak and wick¬ 
ed as they were incoherent and badly put together. 
We suffered all with patience, without vindicating our¬ 
selves, or making any complaint. 

Scarcely were we arrived at Turin, but the Bishop 
of Geneva wrote against us. As he could pursue us no 
other way, he did it by his letters. Father La Combe 
repaired to Verceil, and I staid at Turin, with the 
Marchioness of Prunai. But what crosses was I 
assaulted with in my own family, from the Bishop of 
Geneva, from the Bamabites, and from a vast number 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


265 


of persons besides! My eldest son came to find me 
out, on tbe death of my mother-in-law, which was an 
augmentation of my troubles; but after we had heard 
all his accounts of things, and how they had made sales 
of all the moveables, chosen guardians, and settled 
every article, without consulting me at ali, I seemed to 
be there entirely useless. It was judged not proper 
for me to return, considering the rigor of the season. 

The Marchioness of Prunai, who had been so warm¬ 
ly desirous of my company, seeing my great crosses 
and reproaches, looked coldly upon me. My childlike 
simplicity, which was the state wherein God at that 
time kept me, passed with her for stupidity, though in 
that condition he inspired me to utter oracles. For 
when the question was to help anyone, or about any¬ 
thing which God required of me, he gave me, with the 
weakness of a child, the evident tokens of divine 
strength. Her heart was quite shut up to me all the 
time I was there. Our Lord, however, made me fore¬ 
tell events which should happen, and which since that 
time have actually been fulfilled, as well to herself as to 
her daughter, and to the virtuous ecclesiastic who lived 
at her house. She did not fail, at last, to conceive 
more friendship for me, seeing then that Christ was in 
me. It was the force of self-love, and fear of reproach, 
which had closed up her heart. Moreover, she thought 
her state more advanced than in reality it was, by 
reason of her being without tests; but she soon saw by 
experience that I had told her the truth. She was 
obliged for family reasons to leave Turin, and go to 
live on her own estate. She solicited me to go with 
her; but the education of my daughter did not permit 
of my compliance. To stay at Turin without her 


266 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


seemed improper, because, having lived very retired in 
this place, I made no acquaintance in it. I knew not 
which way to turn. The Bishop of Verceil, where 
Father La Combe was, most obligingly wrote to me, 
earnestly entreating me to come thither, promising me 
his protection, and assuring me of his esteem, adding, 
“that he should look upon me as his own sister; that 
he wished extremely to have me there.” It was his 
own sister, one of my particular friends, who had 
written to him about me, as had also a French gentle¬ 
man, an acquaintance of his. But a point of honor 
kept me from it. I would not have it said that I had 
gone after Father La Combe, and that I had come to 
Turin only for the purpose of going to Verceil. He 
had also his reputation to preserve, which was the 
cause that he could not agree to my going thither, 
however importunate the Bishop was for it. Had we 
believed it to be the will of God, we would both of us 
have passed over these considerations. God kept us 
both in so great a dependence on his orders, that he 
did not let us foreknow them; but the divine moment 
of his providence determined everything. This proved 
of very great service to Father La Combe, who had 
long walked in assurances, to die to them and to him¬ 
self; for God by an effect of his goodness, that he 
might thus die without any reserve, took them all from 
him. 

During the whole time of my residence at Turin, 
our Lord conferred on me very great favors. I found 
myself every day more transformed into him, and 
had continually more knowledge of the state of souls, 
without ever being mistaken or deceived therein, 
though some were willing to persuade me to think the 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


267 


contrary. I had used my utmost endeavors to give 
myself other thoughts, which has caused me not a little 
pain. For when I told, or wrote to Father La Combe 
about the state of some souls, which appeared to him 
more perfect and advanced than the knowledge given 
to me of them, he attributed it to pride. He was very 
angry with me, and prejudiced against my state. I 
had no uneasiness on account of his esteeming me the 
less, for I was not in a condition to reflect whether he 
esteemed me or not. He could not reconcile my will¬ 
ing obedience in most things, with so extraordinary a 
firmness, which in certain cases he looked upon as 
criminal. He admitted a distrust of my grace; for he 
was not yet sufficiently confirmed in his way, nor did 
he duly comprehend, that it did not in any wise depend 
on me to be one way or another; and that if I had any 
such power, I should have suited myself to what he 
said, to spare myself the crosses which my firmness 
caused me; or, at least, would have artfully dissembled 
my real sentiments. But I could do neither. Were 
all to perish by it, I was in such a manner constrained, 
that I could not forbear telling him the things, just as 
our Lord directed me to tell them to him. In this he 
has given me an inviolable fidelity to the very Iasi No 
crosses or pains have ever made me fail a moment 
therein. These things then, which appeared to him to 
be the strong prejudice of a conceited opinion, set him 
at variance against me. And though he did not openly 
show it, but on the contrary, tried to conceal it from 
me; yet how far distant soever he were from me, I 
could not be ignorant of it; my spirit felt it, and that 
more or less, as the opposition was stronger or weaker; 
and as soon as it abated or ended, my pain, occasioned 


268 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


thereby, ceased. He also, on his side, experienced the 
like. He has told me and written to me many times 
over, “When I stand well with G-od, I find I am well 
with you. When I am otherwise with him, I then 
find myself to be so with you also.” Thus he saw 
clearly that when God received him into his bosom, it 
was always in uniting him to me, as if he would accept 
of nothing from him but in this union. 

While he was at Turin, a widow who was a good 
servant of God, all in the brightness of sensibility, 
came to him to confess. She uttered wonderful things 
of her state. I was then at the other side of the confes¬ 
sional He told me, “ He had met with a soul given 
up to God; that it was she who was present; that he 
was very much edified by her; that he was far from 
finding the like in me; that I operated nothing but 
death upon his souL” At first I rejoiced at his having 
met with such a holy soul, as it ever gives me the high¬ 
est joy to see my God glorified. As I was returning, 
the Lord showed me clearly the state of that soul, as 
only a beginning of devotion mixed with affection and 
a little silence, filled with a new sensation. This and 
more, as it was set before me, I was obliged to write 
to him upon it On his first reading of my letter, he dis¬ 
covered the stamp of truth in it; but soon after, letting 
in again his old reflections, he viewed all I wrote in the 
light of pride; for he still had in his mind the ordinary 
rules of humility conceived and comprised after our 
maimer. As to me, I let myself be led as a child, who 
says and does, without distinction, whatever it is made 
to say and do. I left myself to be led wheresoever my 
heavenly Father pleased, high or low; all was alike 
good to me. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


269 


He wrote to me, that, at his first reading of my 
letter, there appeared in it something of truth; but 
that on reading it over again, he found it to be full of 
pride, and of preference of my own discernments to 
that of others. Some time after he was more enlight¬ 
ened hereupon, and in regard to the state I was in. 
He then said to me, “Continue to believe as you have 
done; I encourage and exhort you to do it.” Some 
time after he sufficiently discovered, by that person’s 
manner of acting, that she was very far from what he 
had thought of her. I give this as only one instance. 
I might give many others nearly like it; but this may 
suffice. 




270 


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CHAPTER XIV. 

One night in a dream our Lord showed me, that he 
would also purify the maid whom he had given me, 
and make her truly enter into death to herself. I then 
freely resolved to suffer for her, as I did for Father La 
Combe. As she resisted God much more than he, and 
was much more under the power of self-love, she had 
more to be purified from. What I could not tolerate 
in her was her regard for herself. I saw clearly that 
the devil cannot hurt us, but so far as we retain some 
fondness for this corrupt self. This sight was from 
God, who gave me the discerning of spirits, which 
would ever accept what was from him, or reject what 
was not; and that not from any common methods of 
judging, not from any outward information, but by an 
inward principle which is his gift alone. 

That this point be not mistaken, it is needful to 
mention here that souls which are yet in themselves, 
whatever degree of light and ardor they have attained, 
are unqualified for it They often think they have this 
discernment, when it is nothing else but sympathy or 
antipathy of nature. Our Lord had destroyed in me 
every sort of natural antipathy. The soul must be 
very pure, and depending on God alone, that all these 
things may be experienced in him. In proportion as 
this maid became inwardly purified, my pain abated, 
till the Lord let me know her state was going to be 
changed, which soon happily ensued. In comparison 


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271 


of inward pain for souls, outward persecutions, though 
ever so violent, scarce gave me any. 

The Bishop of Geneva wrote to different kinds of 
persons. He wrote in my favor to such as he thought 
would show me his letters, and quite the contrary in 
the letters which he thought I would never see. It was 
so ordered that these persons, having showed each 
other their letters received from him, were struck with 
indignation to see in him so shameful a duplicity. 
They sent me those letters that I might take proper 
precautions. I kept them two years, and then burnt 
them, not to hurt the prelate by them. The strongest 
battery he raised against me was what he did with the 
Secretary of State, who held that post in conjunction 
with the Marchioness of Prunai’s brother. He used 
all imaginable endeavors to render me odious, and to 
cry me down. He employed certain abbots for that 
purpose, insomuch that, though I appeared very little 
abroad, I was well known by the descriptions this 
bishop had given of me. This did not make so much 
impression as it would have done, if he had appeared 
in a better light at Court. Some letters of his, which 
her royal highness found after the prince’s death, which 
he had written to him against her, had that effect on 
the princess, that, instead of taking any notice of what 
he now wrote against me, she showed me great respect, 
and sent her request to me to come to see her. 
Accordingly I waited on her. She assured me of her 
protection, and that she was glad of my being in her 
dominions. 

It pleased God here to make use of me to the con¬ 
version of two or three ecclesiastics. But I had much 
to suffer from their repugnances and many infidelities 


272 


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—one of whom had villified me greatly—and even after 
his conversion turned aside into his old ways; but God 
at length graciously restored him. 

As I was undetermined whether I should place my 
daughter at the Visitation of Turin, or take some other 
course; I was exceedingly surprised, at a time I least 
expected it, to see Father La Combe arrive from Ver- 
ceil, and tell me, “ I must return to Paris without any 
delay.” It was in the evening, and he said, “I must 
set off next morning.” I confess this sudden news 
startled me. It was for me a double sacrifice to return 
to a place where they had cried me down so much; 
and towards a family which held me in contempt, and 
who had represented my journey, caused by pure neces¬ 
sity, as a voluntary course, pursued through human 
attachments. Behold me then disposed to go off, 
without offering a single word in reply, with my daugh¬ 
ter and my chambermaid, without anybody to guide 
and attend us; for Father La Combe was resolved not 
to accompany me, not so much as in passing the moun¬ 
tains; because the Bishop of Geneva had written on all 
sides that I was gone to Turin to run after him. But 
the Father Provincial, who was a man of quality, and 
well acquainted with the virtue of Father La Combe, 
told him, “ that it was improper and unsafe to venture 
on these mountains, without some person of my 
acquaintance; and the more as I had my little daugh¬ 
ter with me; and that he therefore ordered him to 
accompany me.” Father La Combe confessed to me 
that he had some reluctance to do it, and that only 
obedience, and the danger to which I should have been 
exposed, made him surmount it. He was only to 
accompany me to Grenoble, and from thence to return 


THE LIFE OP MADAME GUYON. 


273 


to Turin. I went off then, designing for Paris, there to 
suffer whatever crosses and trials it should please God 
to inflict 

What made me pass by Grenoble was the desire I 
had to spend two or three days with a lady, an eminent 
servant of God, and one of my friends. When I was 
there Father La Combe and that lady spoke to me not 
to go any farther; that God would glorify himself in 
me and by me in that place. He returned to Verceil, 
and I left myself to be conducted as a child by Provi¬ 
dence. This lady took me to the house of a good 
widow, there not being accommodations at the inn; 
and as I was ordered to stop at Grenoble, at her house 
I resided. I placed my daughter in a convent, and 
resolved to employ all this time in resigning myself to 
be possessed in solitude by Him who is the absolute 
Sovereign of my soul I made not any visit in this 
place; no more had I in any of the others where I had 
sojourned. But I was greatly surprised when, a few 
days after my arrival, there came to see me several 
persons who made profession of a singular devotion to 
God. I perceived immediately a gift which he had 
given me, of administering to each that which suited 
their states. I felt myself invested, all on a sudden, 
with the apostolic state, and discerned the conditions 
of the souls of such persons as spoke to me, and that 
with so much facility, that they were surprised at it, 
and said one to another, “that I gave eveiy one of 
them the very thing they had stood in need of.” It 
was thou, O my God, who didst all these things; some 
of them sent others to me. It came to such an excess, 
that, generally from six in the morning till eight in the 
evening, I was taken up in speaking of the Lord. Peo- 


274 


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pie flocked on all sides, far and near, friars, priests, 
men of the world, maids, wives, widows, all came one 
after another; and the Lord supplied me with what 
was pertinent and satisfactory to them all, after a won¬ 
derful manner, without any share of my study or medi¬ 
tation therein. Nothing was hid from me of their 
interior state, and of what passed within them. Here, 
O my God, thou madest an infinite number of conquests 
known to thyself only. They were instantly furnished 
with a wonderful facility of'prayer. God conferred on 
them his grace plentifully, and wrought marvellous 
changes in them. The most advanced of these souls 
found, when with me, in silence, a grace communicated 
to them which they could neither comprehend, nor 
cease to admire. The others found an unction in my 
words, and that they operated in them what I said to 
them. They said, “they had never experienced any¬ 
thing like it.” Friars of different orders, and priests of 
merit, came to see me, to whom our Lord granted very 
great favors, as indeed he did to all, without exception, 
who came in sincerity. 

One thing was surprising, which was, that I had 
not a syllable to say to such as came only to watch my 
words, and to criticise them. Even when I thought to 
try to speak to them, I felt that I could not, and that 
God would not have me do it. Some of them in 
return said, “ The people are fools to go to see that 
lady. She cannot speak.” Others of them treated me 
as if I were only a stupid simpleton. After they left 
me there came one and said, “ I could not get hither 
soon enough to apprize you not to speak to those per¬ 
sons; they come from such and such, to try what they 
can catch from you to your disadvantage.” I answered 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


275 


them, “Our Lord has prevented your charity; fori 
was not able to say one word to them.” 

I felt that what I spoke flowed from the fountain, 
and that I was only the instrument of him who made 
me speak. Amidst this general applause, our Lord 
made me comprehend what the apostolic state was, 
with which he had honored me; that to give one’s self 
up to the help of souls, in the purity of his Spirit, was 
to expose one’s self to the most cruel persecutions. 
These very words were imprinted on my heart: “ To 

resign ourselves to serve our neighbor is to sacrifice 
ourselves to a gibbet. Such as now proclaim, ‘ Blessed 
is he who cometh in the name of the Lord/ will soon 
cry out, * Away with him, crucify him.’ ” One of my 
friends speaking of the general esteem the people had 
for me, I said to her, “ Observe what I now tell you, 
that you will hear curses out of the same mouths 
which at present pronounce blessings.” Our Lord 
made me comprehend that I must be conformable to 
him in all his states; and that, if he had continued in a 
private life with his parents, he never had been cruci¬ 
fied; that, when he would resign any of his servants to 
crucifixion, he employed such in the ministry and ser¬ 
vice of their neighbors. It is certain that all the souls 
employed herein by apostolic destination from God, 
and who are truly in the apostolic state, are to suffer 
extremely. I speak not of those who put themselves 
into it, who, not being called of God in a singular 
manner, and having nothing of the grace of the apos- 
tleship, have none of its crosses; but of those only who 
surrender themselves to God without any reserve, and 
who are willing with their whole hearts to be exposed 
for his sake, to sufferings without any mitigation. 


276 


TEE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


CHAPTER XV. 

Among so great a number of good souls, on whom 
our Lord wrought much by me, some were given me 
only as plants to cultivate. I knew their state, but had 
not that near connection with, or authority over them, 
which I had over others. It was then that I compre¬ 
hended the true maternity beyond what I had done 
before; for those of the latter kind were given me as 
children, of whom some were faithful. I knew they 
would be so; and they were closely united to me in 
pure charity. Others were unfaithful; I knew that of 
these some would never return from their infidelity, 
and they were taken from me; some, after slipping 
aside, were recovered. Both of them cost me much 
distress and inward pain, when, for want of courage to 
die to themselves, they gave up the point; and revolted 
from the good beginning they had been favored with. 

Our Lord, amongst such multitudes as followed 
him on earth, had few true children. Wherefore he 
said to his Father, “ Those that thou gavest me I have 
kept, and none of them is lost but the son of perdition,” 
showing hereby that he lost not any beside of his apos¬ 
tles, or disciples, though they sometimes made false 
steps. 

Among the friars who came to see me, there was 
one order which discovered the good effects of grace 
more than any other. Some of that very order had 
before this, in a little town where Father La Combe 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUY0N. 


277 


was in the exercise of his mission, been actuated with a 
false zeal, and violent in persecuting all the good souls 
which had sincerely dedicated themselves to God, 
plaguing them after such a manner as can scarce be 
conceived, burning all their books which treated of 
silence and inward prayer, refusing absolution to such 
as were in the practice of it, driving into consternation, 
and almost into despair, such as had formerly led 
wicked lives, but were now reformed, and preserved in 
grace by means of prayer, becoming spotless and 
blameless in their conduct. These Mars had proceeded 
to such an excess of wild zeal as to raise a sedition in 
that town, in which a father of the oratory, a person of 
distinction and merit, received strokes with a stick in 
the open street, because he prayed extempore in the 
evenings, and on Sundays made a short fervent prayer, 
which insensibly habituated these good souls to the use 
and practice of the like. 

I never in all my life had so much consolation as to 
see in this little town so many pious souls who with a 
heavenly emulation gave up their whole hearts to God. 
There were girl3 of twelve or thirteen years of age, who 
industriously followed their work almost all the day 
long, in silence, and in their employments enjoyed a 
communion with God, having acquired a fixed habit 
herein. As these girls were poor, they placed them¬ 
selves two and two together, and such as could do it 
read to the others who could not. One saw there the 
innocence of the primitive Christians revived. There 
was in that town a poor laundress who had five chil¬ 
dren, and a husband paralytic, lame in the right arm, 
and yet worse distempered in mind than in body. He 
had little strength left for anything else than to beat 


278 


THE LIFE OF MAD AMT?. GUYON. 


her. Yet this poor woman bore it with all the meek¬ 
ness and patience of an angel, while she by her labor 
supported him and his five children. She had a won¬ 
derful gift of prayer, and amidst her great suffering 
and extreme poverty, preserved the presence of God, 
and tranquillity of mind. There was also a shop¬ 
keeper, and one who made locks, very much affected 
with God. These were close friends. Sometimes the 
one and sometimes the other read to this laundress; 
and they were surprised to find that she was instructed 
by the Lord himself in all they read to her, and spoke 
divinely of it. 

Those friars sent for this woman, and threatened 
her much if she did not leave off prayer, telling her it 
was only for churchmen to pray, and that she was very 
bold to practice it. She replied, “that Christ had 
commanded all to pray, and that he had said “ What I 
say unto you I say unto all,” (Mark xiii, 33, 37), without 
specifying either priests or friars; that without prayer 
she could not support her crosses and poverty; that 
formerly she had lived without it, and then was very 
wicked; that since she had been in the exercise of it, 
she had loved God with all her soul; so that to leave 
off prayer was to renounce her salvation, which she 
could not do.” She added “that they might take 
twenty persons who had never practiced prayer, and 
twenty of those who were in the practice of it.” Then, 
said she, “ Inform yourselves of the lives of both sorts, 
and ye will see if ye have any reason to cry out against 
prayer.” Such words as these, from such a woman, 
one would think might have fully convinced them; but 
instead of that, it only irritated them the more. They 
assured her “ she should have no absolution till she 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


279 


promised them to desist from prayer.” She said, “It 
depended not on her, and that Christ is master of what 
he communicates to his creatures, and of doing with it 
what he pleases.” They refused her absolution; and 
after railing at a good tailor, who served God with his 
whole heart, they ordered all the books without excep¬ 
tion, which treated on prayer to be brought to them, 
and they burned them with their own hands in the 
public square. They were very much elated with their 
performance; but all the town presently arose in an 
uproar, on account of the late insolent and intolerable 
abuse of the father of the oratory. The principal men 
went to the Bishop of Geneva, and complained to him 
of the scandals of these new missionaries, so different 
from the others. Speaking of Father La Combe, who 
had been there before them on his mission, they said 
“ these seemed as if they were sent to destroy all the 
good he had done.”. The bishop was forced to come 
himself to that town, and there to mount the pulpit, 
protesting that he had no share in it, and that these 
fathers had pushed their zeal too far. The friars, on 
the other side declared, they had done all they did, 
pursuant to the orders given them. 

There were also at Tonon young women who had 
retired together, being poor villagers, the better to 
earn their livelihood and to serve God. One of them 
read from time to time, while the others were at work, 
and not one went out without asking leave of the 
eldest. They wove ribbands, or spun, the strong sup¬ 
porting the weak. They separated these poor girls, 
and others beside them, in several villages, and drove 
them out of the Church. 

It was the friars of this very order whom our Lord 


280 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


made use of to establish prayer in I know not how 
many places. And, into the places where they went, 
they carried a hundred times more books of prayer 
than those which their brethren had burned. The 
hand of God appeared to me wonderfully in these 
things. 

One day when I was sick, a brother who had skill 
in curing diseases, came for a charitable collection, but 
hearing I was ill, came in to see me, and gave me 
medicines proper for my disorder. We entered into a 
conversation which revived in him the love he had for 
God, which he acknowledged had been too much stifled 
by his great occupations. I made him comprehend 
that there was no employment which should hinder 
him from loving God, and from being occupied within 
himself. He readily believed me, as he already had a 
good share of piety, and of an interior disposition. 
Our Lord conferred on him many favors, and gave him 
to be one of my true children. 

I saw at this time, or rather experienced the ground 
on which God rejects sinners from his bosom. All the 
cause of God’s rejection is in the will of the sinner. If 
that will submits, how horrible soever he be, God puri¬ 
fies him in his love, and receives him into his grace; 
but while that will rebels, the rejection continues; 
though for want of ability seconding his inclination, he 
should not commit the sin he is inclined to, yet he 
never can be admitted into grace till the cause ceases, 
which is this wrong will, rebellious to the divine law. 
If that once submits, God then totally removes the 
effects of sin, which stain the soul, by washing away 
the defilements which he has contracted. If that sin¬ 
ner dies in the time that his will is rebellious and 


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281 


turned towards sin, as death fixes forever the disposi¬ 
tion of the soul, and the cause of its impurity is ever 
subsisting, such soul can never be received into God; 
its rejection must be eternal, as there is such an abso¬ 
lute opposition between essential purity and essential 
impurity. And as this soul, from its own nature neces¬ 
sarily tends to its own centre, it is continually rejected 
of the Lord, by reason of its impurity, subsisting not 
only in the effects, but in their cause. It is the same 
way in this life. This cause, so long as it subsists^ 
absolutely hinders the grace of God from operat¬ 
ing in the soul. But if the sinner comes to die truly 
penitent, then the cause, which is the wrong will, being 
taken away, there remains only the effect or impurity 
caused by it. He is then in a condition to be purified. 
God of his infinite mercy has provided a laver of love 
and of justice, a painful laver indeed, to purify this 
soul. And as the defilement is greater or less, so is the 
pain; but when the cause is utterly taken away, the 
pain entirely ceases. Now, I say, it is the veiy same 
here. Souls are received into grace, as soon as the 
cause of sin ceases; but they do not pass into the Lord 
himself, till all its effects are washed away. If they 
have not courage to let him, in his own way and will, 
thoroughly cleanse and purify them, they never enter 
into the pure divinity in this life. 

The Lord incessantly solicits this will to cease to be 
rebellious, and spares nothing on his side for this good 
end. The will is free, yet grace follows it still. As 
soon as the will ceases to rebel, it finds grace at the 
door, ready to introduce its unspeakable benefits. O, 
the goodness of the Lord and baseness of the sinner, 
each of them amazing when clearly seen. 


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THE LIFE OF MATUMT. GUYON. 


Before I arrived at Grenoble, the lady, my friend 
there, saw in a dream that our Lord gave me an infin¬ 
ite number of children all uniformly clad, bearing on 
their habits the marks of candor and innocence. She 
thought I was coming to take care of the children of 
the hospital But as soon as she told me it, I discerned 
that it was not that which the dream meant; but that 
our Lord would give me, by a spiritual fruitfulness, a 
great number of children; that they would not be my 
true children, but in simplicity, candor and innocence. 
So great an aversion I have to artifice and disguise. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

The physician of whom I have spoken, was disposed 
to lay open his heart to me like a child. Our Lord 
gave him through me all that was necessary for him; 
for though disposed to the spiritual life, yet for want 
of courage and fidelity he had not duly advanced 
in it 

He had occasion to bring to me some of his com¬ 
panions who were friars; and the Lord took hold of 
them all It was at the very same time, that the 
others of the same order were making all the ravages I 
have mentioned, and opposing with all their might the 
holy Spirit of the Lord. I could not but admire to 
see how the Lord was pleased to make amends for 
former damages, by the pouring out his Spirit in 
abundance on these men, while the others were labor¬ 
ing vehemently against it, doing all they could to 
destroy its dominion and efficacy in their fellow-mor¬ 
tals. But those good souls instead of being staggered 
by persecutions, grew the stronger by it. The Super¬ 
ior, and the master of the novices of the house in 
which this doctor was, declared against me, without 
knowing me; and were grievously chagrined that a 
woman, as they said, should be so much flocked to, 
and so much sought after. Looking at things as they 
were in themselves, and not as they were in the Lord, 
who does whatever pleases him, they had contempt for 
the gift which was lodged in so mean an instrument, 


284 


TflE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


instead of esteeming the Lord and his grace. Yet this 
good brother at length got the superior to come to see 
me, and thank me for the good which he said I had 
done them. Our Lord so ordered, that he found some¬ 
thing in my conversation which reached and took hold 
of him. At length he was completely brought over. 
And he it was, who some time after, being visitor, dis¬ 
persed such a number of those books, bought at their 
own charge, which the others had tried utterly to 
destroy. Oh, how wonderful art thou, my God! In 
all thy ways how wise, in all thy conduct how full of 
love! How well thou canst frustrate all the false wis¬ 
dom of men, and triumph over their vain preten¬ 
tions ! 

There were in this noviciate many novices. The 
eldest of them grew so very uneasy under his vocation, 
that he knew not what to do. So great was his trouble 
that he could neither read, study, pray, nor do scarcely 
any of his duties. His companion brought him to me. 
We spoke awhile together, and the Lord discovered to 
me both the cause of his disorder and its remedy. I 
told it to him; and he began to practice prayer, even 
that of the heart He was on a sudden wonderfully 
changed, and the Lord highly favored him. As I spoke 
to him grace wrought in his heart, and his soul drank 
it in, as the parched ground does the gentle rain. He 
felt himself relieved of his pain before he left the room. 
He then readily, joyfully, and perfectly performed all 
his exercises, which before were done with reluctance 
and disgust He now both studied and prayed easily, 
and discharged all his duties, in such a manner, that he 
was scarce known to himself or others. What aston¬ 
ished him most was a remarkable gift of prayer. He 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GTJYON. 


285 


saw that there was readily given him what he could 
never have before, whatever pains he took for it. This 
enlivening gift was the principle which made him act, 
gave him grace for his employments, and an inward 
fruition of the grace of God, which brought all good 
with it. He gradually brought me all the novices, all 
of whom partook of the effects of grace, though differ¬ 
ently, according to their different temperaments. 
Never was there a more flourishing noviciate. 

The master and superior could not forbear admir¬ 
ing so great a change in their novices, though they did 
not know the cause of it. One day, as they were speak¬ 
ing of it to the collector, for they esteemed him highly 
on account of his virtue, and telling him, they were 
surprised at the change in the novices, and the blessing 
the Lord had bestowed on the noviciate, he said to 
them, “ My fathers, if you will permit me, I will tell 
you the reason of it. It is the lady against whom you 
have exclaimed so much without knowing her, whom 
God has made use of for all this.” They were very 
much surprised; and both the master, though advanced 
in age, and his superior then submitted humbly to 
practice prayer, after the manner taught by a little 
book, which the Lord inspired me to write, and of 
which I shall say more hereafter. They reaped such 
benefit from it, that the superior said to me, “I am 
become quite a new man. I could not practice prayer 
before, because my reasoning faculty was grown dull 
and exhausted; but now I do it as often as I will, with 
ease, with much fruit, and a quite different sensation 
of the presence of God.” And the master said, “I 
have been a friar these forty years, and can truly say 
that I never knew how to pray, nor have I ever known 


286 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


or tasted of God, as I have done since I read that little 
book.” 

Many others were gained to God, whom I looked on 
to be my true children. He gave me three famous 
friars, of an order by which I have been, and still am, 
very much persecuted. He made me also of service to 
a great number of nuns, of virtuous young women, and 
even men of the world; among the rest a young man of 
quality, who had quitted the order of the knights of 
Malta, to take that of the priesthood. He was the rela¬ 
tion of a bishop near him, who had other designs of 
preferment for him. He has been much favored of the 
Lord, and is constant in prayer. I could not describe 
the great number of souls which were then given me, 
as well maids as wives, priests and friars. But there 
were three curates, one canon, and one grand-vicar, 
who were more particularly given me. There was one 
priest very intimately given me, for whom I suffered 
much, through his not being willing to die to himself, 
and loving himself too much. With a sad regret I saw 
him decaying, falling away till he was quite snatched 
from me. As for the others there are some of them 
who have continued stedfast and immoveable, and some 
whom the tempest has shaken a little, but not tom 
away. Though these start aside, yet they still return- 
But those who are snatched quite away return no 
more. 

There was one true daughter given me, whom our 
Lord made use of to gain many others to him. She 
was in a strange state of death when I first saw her, 
and by me he gave her life and peace. She afterwards 
fell extremely ill. The doctors said she would die; 
but I had an assurance of the contrary, and that God 


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287 


would make use of her, as he has done, to gain souls. 
There was in a monastery a young woman confined in 
a state of distraction. I saw her, knew her case, and 
that it was not what they thought it was. As soon as 
I had spoken to her she recovered. But the prioress 
did not like that I should tell her my thoughts of it, 
because the person who had brought her thither was 
her friend. They plagued her more than before, and 
threw her back again into her distraction. 

A sister of another monastery had been for eight 
years in a deep melancholy, unrelieved by anyone. 
Her director increased it, by practicing remedies con¬ 
trary to her disorder. I had never been in that mon¬ 
astery; for I did not go into such places, unless I was 
sent for, as I did not think it right to intrude, but left 
myself to be conducted of Providence. I was very 
much surprised that at eight o’clock at night one came 
for me from the prioress. It was in the long days of 
summer, and being near it, I went. I met with a sister 
who told me her case. She had gone to such excess, 
that seeing no remedy for it, she had taken a knife to 
kill herself; but the knife fell out of her hand; and a 
person coming to see her had advised her to speak to 
me. Our Lord made me know at first what the matter 
was; and that he required her to resign herself to him, 
instead of resisting him as they had made her do for 
eight years. I was instrumental to draw her into such 
a resignation, that she entered at once into a peace of 
paradise; all her pains and troubles were instantly 
banished; and never returned again. She has the 
greatest capacity of any in the house. She was pre¬ 
sently so changed as to be the admiration of the whole 
community. Our Lord gave her a very great gift of 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


prayer and his continual presence, -with a faculty and 
readiness for everything. A domestic also, who had 
troubled her for twenty-two years past, was delivered 
from her troubles, and is become a very religious 
woman. That produced a close tie of friendship 
between the prioress and me, as the wonderful change 
and the peace of this sister surprised her, she having 
so often seen her in her terrible sorrow. I also con¬ 
tracted other such ties in this monastery, where there 
are souls under the Lord’s special regard, whom he 
drew to himself by the means he had been pleased to 
make choice of. 

I was specially moved to read the Holy Scriptures. 
When I began I was impelled to write the passage, and 
instantly its explication was given me, which I also 
wrote, going on with inconceivable expedition, light 
being poured in upon me in such a manner, that I 
found I had in myself latent treasures of wisdom and 
knowledge which I had not yet known of. Before I 
wrote I knew not what I was going to write. And 
after I had written, I remembered nothing of what I 
had penned; nor could I make use of any part of it 
for the help of souls; but the Lord gave me, at the 
time I spoke to them; without any study or reflection 
of mine, all that was necessary for them. Thus the 
Lord made me go on with an explanation of the holy 
internal sense of the Scriptures. I had no other book 
but the Bible, nor ever made use of any but that, and 
without even seeking for any. When, in writing on the 
Old Testament, I made use of passages of the New, to 
support what I had said, it was without seeking them, 
they were given me along with the explication; and in 
writing on the New Testament, and therein making use 


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289 


of passages of the Old, they were given me in like man¬ 
ner without my seeking anything. I had scarce any 
time for writing but in the night, allowing only one or 
two hours to sleep. The Lord made me write with so 
much purity, that I was obliged to leave off or begin 
again, as he was pleased to order. He proved me 
everyway herein. When I wrote by day, often sud¬ 
denly interrupted, I left the word unfinished, and he 
afterwards gave me what he pleased. If I gave way 
to reflection I was punished for it, and could not pro¬ 
ceed. And yet sometimes I was not duly attentive to 
the divine Spirit, thinking I did well to continue when 
I had time, even without feeling his immediate impulse 
or enhghtning influence, from whence it is easy to see 
some places clear and consistent, and others which have 
neither taste nor unction; such is the difference of the 
Spirit of God from the human and natural spirit, 
although they are left just as I wrote them, yet I am 
ready, if ordered, to adjust them according to my pre¬ 
sent light. Didst thou not, O my God, turn me a hun¬ 
dred ways, to prove whether I was without any reserve, 
through every kind of trial, or whether I had not yet 
some little interest for myself? My soul became here¬ 
by readily pliable to every discovery of the divine will, 
and whatever kind of humiliations attended me to 
counterbalance my Lord’s favors, till everything, high 
or low, was rendered alike to me. 

Me t hink s the Lord acts with his dearest friends as 
the sea with its waves. Sometimes it pushes them 
against the rocks where they break in pieces, some¬ 
times it rolls them on the sand, or dashes them on the 
mire, then instantly it retakes them into the depths of 
its own bosom, where they are absorbed with the same 


290 


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rapidity that they were first ejected. Even among the 
good the far greater part are souls only of mercy; and 
surely that is well; but to appertain to divine justice, 
oh, how rare and yet how great! Mercy is all distribu¬ 
tive in favor of the creature, but justice destroys every¬ 
thing of the creature, without sparing anything. 

The lady, who was my particular friend, began to 
conceive some jealousy on the applause given me, God 
so permitting it for the farther purification of her soul, 
through this weakness, and the pain it caused her. 
Also some confessors began to be uneasy, saying, “ It 
was none of my business to invade their province, and 
to meddle in the help of souls; and that there were 
some of the penitents which had a great affection for 
me.” It was easy for me to observe the difference 
between those confessors who, in their conducting of 
souls, seek nothing but God, and those who seek them¬ 
selves therein; for the first came to see me, and rejoiced 
greatly at the grace of God bestowed on their peni¬ 
tents, without fixing their attention on the instrument. 
The others, on the contrary, tried underhand to stir up 
the town against me. I saw that they would be in the 
right to oppose me, if I had intruded cl myself; but I 
could do nothing but what the Lord made me do. At 
times there came some to dispute and op>pose me. Two 
friars came, one of them a man of profound learning 
and a great preacher. They came separately, after 
having studied a number of difficult things to propose 
to me. But though they were matters far out of my 
reach, the Lord made me answer as justly as if I had 
studied them all my life; after which I spoke to them 
as he inspired me. They went away not only con¬ 
vinced and satisfied, but affected with the love of God. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


291 


I still continued writing with a prodigious swift¬ 
ness; for the hand could scarcely follow fast enough the 
Spirit which dictated, and through the whole progress 
of so long a work I never altered my manner nor made 
use of any other book than the Bible itself. The trans¬ 
criber, whatever diligence he used, could not copy in 
five days what I wrote in one night. Whatever is good 
in it comes from God only. Whatever is otherwise 
from myself; I mean from the mixture which I have 
made, without duly attending to it, of my own impurity 
with his pure and chaste doctrine. In the day I had 
scarcely time to eat, by reason of the vast numbers of 
people which came thronging to me. I wrote the can¬ 
ticles in a day and a half, and received several visits 
besides. 

Here I may add to what I have said about my 
writings, that a consider**ole part of the book of Judges 
happened by some means to be lost. Being desired to 
render that book complete, I wrote over again the 
places lost. Afterwards when the people were about 
leaving the house, they were found. My former and 
latter explications, on comparison, were found to be 
perfectly conformable to each other, which greatly sur¬ 
prised persons of knowledge and merit, who attested 
the truth of it. 

There came to see me a counsellor of the parliament, 
a servant of God, who finding on my table a tract on 
prayer, which I had written long before, desired me to 
lend it. Having read it and liked it much, he lent it to 
some friends, to whom he thought it might be of ser¬ 
vice. Everyone wanted copies of it. He resolved 
therefore to have it printed. The impression was 
begun, and proper approbations given to it. They 


292 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


requested me to write a preface, which I did, and thus 
was that little book printed, which has since made so 
much noise, and been the pretence for the several per¬ 
secutions. This counsellor was one of my intimate 
friends, and a pattern of piety. The book has already 
passed through five or six editions; and our Lord has 
given a very great benediction to it. Those good friars 
took fifteen hundred of them. The devil became so 
enraged against me on account of the conquest which 
God made by me, that I was assured he was going to 
stir up against me a violent persecution. All that gave 
me no trouble. Let him stir up against me ever so 
strange persecutions. I know they will all serve to the 
glory of my God. 


THE LIFE OF matutvtr GUYON. 


293 


CHAPTER XVE 

A poor girl of very great simplicity, who earned her 
livelihood by her labor, and was inwardly favored of 
the Lord, came all sorrowful to me, and said, “ Oh my 
mother, what strange things have I seen! ” I asked 
what they were, “ Alas said she, I have seen you like a 
lamb in the midst of a vast troop of furious wolves. I 
have seen a frightful multitude of people of all ranks 
and robes, of all ages, sexes and conditions, priests, 
friars, married men, maids and wives, with pikes, hal¬ 
berts and drawn swords, all eager for your instant 
destruction. You let them alone without stirring, or 
being surprised and without offering any way to defend 
yourself. I looked on all sides to see whether anyone 
would come to assist and defend you; but I saw not 
one.” Some days after, those, who through envy were 
raising private batteries against me, broke forth. 
Libels began to spread. Envious people wrote against 
me, without knowing me. They said, “I was a sorcer¬ 
ess, that it was by a magic power I attracted souls> 
that everything in me was diabolical; that if I did some 
charities, it was because I coined, and put off false 
money,” with many other gross accusations, equally 
false, groundless and absurd. 

As the tempest increased every day, some of my 
friends advised me to withdraw, but before I mention 
my leaving Grenoble, I must say something farther of 
my state while here. 


294 


THE UFJsi O* MADAMk GUVON. 


It seemed to me that all our Lord made me do for 
souls, would he in union with Jesus Christ. In this 
divine union my words had wonderful effect, even the 
formation of Jesus Christ in the souls of others. I was 
in no wise able of myself to say the things I said. He 
who conducted me made me say what he pleased, and 
as long as he pleased. To some I was not permitted to 
speak a word; and to others there flowed forth as it 
were a deluge of grace, and yet this pure love admitted 
not of any superfluity, or a means of empty amuse¬ 
ment. When questions were asked, to which an answer 
were useless, it was not given me. It was the same in 
regard to such as our Lord was pleased to conduct 
through death to themselves, and who came to seek for 
human consolation. I had nothing for them but what 
was purely necessary, and could proceed no farther. I 
could at least only speak of indifferent things, in such 
liberty as God allows, in order to suit everyone, and 
not to be unsociable or disagreeable to any; but for 
his own word, he himself is the dispenser of it. Oh, if 
preachers were duly careful to speak only in that spirit, 
what fruits would they bring forth in the lives of their 
hearers. With my true children I could communicate 
best in silence, in the spiritual language of the divine 
Word. I had the* consolation some time before to hear 
one read in St. Augustine a conversation he had with 
his mother. He complains of the necessity of return¬ 
ing from that heavenly language to words, by reason of 
our weakness. I sometimes said, “ Oh, my Love, give 
me hearts large enough to receive and contain the full¬ 
ness bestowed on me.” 

After this manner, when the Holy Virgin approached 
Elizabeth, a wonderful commerce was maintained 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


295 


between Jesus Christ and St. John the Baptist, who 
after this manifested no eagerness to come to see 
Christ, but was drawn to retire into the desert, to 
receive the like communications with the greatest 
plenitude. When he came forth to preach repentance* 
he said, not that he was the Word, but only a Voice 
which was sent to make way, or open a passage into 
the hearts of the people for Christ the Word. He bap¬ 
tised only with water, for that was his function; for, as 
the water in running off leaves nothing, so does the 
Voice when it is past But the Word baptised with the 
Holy Ghost, because he imprinted himself on souls, 
and communicated with them by that Holy Spirit. It 
is not observed that Jesus Christ said anything during 
the whole obscure part of his life, though it is true that 
not any of his words shall be lost. Oh Love, if all thou 
hast said and operated in silence were to be written, I 
think the whole world could not contain the books that 
should be written. John xxi. 25. 

All that I experienced was shown me in the Holy 
Scripture; and I saw with admiration that there passed 
nothing within my soul which was not in Jesus Christ 
and in the Holy Scriptures. I must pass over very 
many things in silence, because they cannot be 
expressed; and if they were expressed could not be 
understood or comprehended. 

I often felt much for Father La Combe, who was 
not yet fixed in his state of interior death, but often 
rose and fell into alternatives. I was made sensible 
that he was a vessel of election, whom God had chosen 
to carry his name among the Gentiles, and that he 
would show him how much he must suffer for that 
name. O God! who can ever be able to comprehend 


296 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUY ON. 


the pure and holy union which thou formest between 
thy children ? A carnal world judges carnally of them, 
and imputes to human attachment what is from the 
purest grace. If this union by any deviation be broken, 
the more pure and perfect it is, the more painfully will 
it be felt; the separation of the soul from God by sin 
being worse than that from the body by death. For 
myself I may say I had a continual dependence on 
God, in every state; my soul was ever willing to obey 
every motion of his Spirit. I thought there could not 
be anything in the world which he could require from 
me, to which I would not give myself up readily and 
with pleasure. I had no interest at all for myself. 
When God requires anything from this wretched noth¬ 
ing, I find no resistance left in me to do his will, how 
rigorous soever it may appear. O my Love, if there is 
a heart in the world of which thou art the sole and 
absolute master, mine seems to be one of that sort. 
Thy will, however rigorous, is its life and its pleasure; 
for it no more subsists but in thee alone. 

To resume the thread of my story, the Bishop of 
Grenoble’s Almoner persuaded me to go for some time 
to Marseilles, to let the storm pass over; telling me that 
I would be well received there, it being his native soil, 
and that many people of merit were there. I wrote to 
Father La Combe for his consent hereto. He readily 
gave it. I might have gone to Yerceil; for the Bishop 
of Yerceil had written me very obliging letters, 
earnestly pressing me to come thither. But a human 
respect, and fear of affording a handle to my enemies, 
gave me an extreme aversion thereto. 

Beside the above, the Marchioness of Prunai, who, 
since my departure from her, had been more enlight- 


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297 


ened by her own experience, having met with a part of 
the things which I thought would befall her, had con¬ 
ceived for me a very strong friendship and intimate 
union of spirit, in such a manner that no two sisters 
could be more united than we were. She was extreme¬ 
ly desirous that I would return to her, as I had form¬ 
erly promised her. But I could not resolve upon this, 
lest it should be thought that I was gone after Father 
La Combe. But, O my God, how was this relic of self- 
love overturned by the secret ways of thy adorable 
Providence! I had yet that exterior support of having 
it in my power to say, that I had never gone after him. 
There had been no room given to anybody to accuse 
me of any indirect attachment to him; for when it 
depended on myself not to continue with him, I did 
not do it The Bishop of Geneva had not failed to 
write against me to Grenoble, as he had done to other 
places. His nephew had gone from house to house to 
cry me down. All this was indifferent to me; and I 
did not cease to do to his diocese all the good in my 
power. I even wrote to him in a respectful manner; 
but his heart was too much closed to yield to any¬ 
thing. 

Before I left Grenoble, that good girl I have spoken 
of came to me weeping, and told me, “ I was going, and 
that I hid it from her, because I would have nobody 
know it; but that the devil would be before me in all 
the places I should go to; that I was going to a town, 
where I would scarce be arrived, before he would stir 
up the whole town against me, and would do me all 
the harm he possibly could.” What had obliged me 
to conceal my departure, was my fear of being loaded 
with visits, and testimonies of friendship from a num- 


298 


THE 11^ OP MADAME GUYON. 


ber of good persons, who had a very great affection for 
me. 

I embarked then upon the Rhone, with my cham¬ 
ber-maid and a young woman of Grenoble, whom the 
Lord had highly favored through my means. The 
Bishop of Grenoble’s Almoner also accompanied me, 
with another very worthy ecclesiastic. We met with 
many alarming accidents and wonderful preservations; 
but those instant dangers, which affrighted others, far 
from alarming me, augmented my peace. The Bishop 
of Grenoble’s Almoner was much astonished. He was 
in a desperate fright, when the boat struck against a 
rock, and opened at the stroke; and in his emotion 
looking attentively at me, he observed that I did not 
change my countenance, or move my eye-brows, 
retaining all my tranquillity. I did not so much as 
feel the first emotions of surprise, which are natural to 
everybody on those occasions, as they depend not on 
ourselves. What caused my peace in such dangers as 
terrify others, was my resignation to God, and because 
death is much more agreeable to me than life, if such 
were his will, to which I desire to be ever patiently 
submissive. 

As I was going off from Grenoble, a man of quality, 
a servant of God, and one of my intimate friends, had 
given me a letter for a knight of Malta, who was very 
devout, and whom I have esteemed since I have known 
him, as a man whom our Lord designed to serve the 
order of Malta greatly, and to be its ornament and 
support by his holy life. I had told him that I thought 
he should go thither, and that God would assuredly 
make use of him to diffuse a spirit of piety into many 
of the knights. He has actually gone to Malta, where 


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299 


the first places were soon given him. This man of 
quality sent him the little book of prayer written by 
me, and printed at Grenoble. He had a chaplain very 
averse to the spiritual path. He took this book, and 
condemning it at once, went to stir up a part of the 
town, and among the rest a set of men who call them¬ 
selves the seventy-two disciples of St. Cyran. I 
arrived at Marseilles at ten o’clock in the morning, and 
that very afternoon all was in a noise against me. 
Some went to speak to the bishop, telling him that, on 
account of that little book, it was necessary to banish 
me from that city. They gave him the book, which he 
examined with one of his prebends. He liked it well. 
He sent for Monsieur Malaval and a father Recollect, 
who he knew had come to see me a little after my arri¬ 
val, to enquire of them from whence that great tumult 
had its rise, which indeed had no other effect on me 
than to make me smile, seeing so soon accomplished 
what that young woman had foretold me. Monsieur 
Malaval and that good father told the bishop what they 
thought of me; after which he testified much uneasi¬ 
ness at the insult given me. I was obliged to go to see 
him. He received me with extraordinary respect, and 
begged my excuse for what had happened; desired me 
to stay at Marseilles, and assured me that he would 
protect me. He even asked where I lodged, that he 
might come to see me. 

Next day the Bishop of Grenoble’s Almoner went 
to see him, with that other priest who had come with 
us. The Bishop of Marseilles again testified to them 
his sorrow for the insults given me without any cause; 
and told them, that it was usual with those persons to 
ins ult all such as were not of their cabal, that they had 


300 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUTON. 


even insulted himself. They were not content with 
that. They wrote to me the most offensive letters pos¬ 
sible, though at the same time they did not know me. 
I apprehended that our Lord was beginning in earnest 
to take from me everyplace of abode; and those words 
were renewed in my mind, “ The foxes have holes, and 
the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of man hath 
not where to lay his head.” 

In the short time of my stay at Marseilles, I was 
instrumental in supporting some good souls, and among 
others an ecclesiastic, who till then was unacquainted 
with me. After having finished his thanksgiving in the 
Church, seeing me go out, he followed me into the 
house in which I lodged. Then he told me, “ the Lord 
had inspired him to address me, and to open his inward 
state to me.” He did it with as much simplicity as 
humility, and the Lord gave him through me all that 
was necessary for him, from whence he was filled with 
joy, and thankful acknowledgments to God. Although 
there were many spiritual persons there, and even of 
his intimate friends, he never had been moved to open 
his mind to any of them. He was a servant of God, 
and favored by him with a singular gift of prayer. 
During the eight days I was at Marseilles, I saw many 
good souls there; for, through all my persecutions, our 
Lord always struck some good stroke of his own right 
hand, and that good ecclesiastic was delivered from an 
anxiety of mind, which had much afflicted him for some 
years past. 

After I had left Grenoble, those who hated me, 
without knowing me, spread libels against me. A 
woman for whom I had a great love, and whom I had 
even extricated from an engagement which she had 


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301 


continued in for several years, and contributed to her 
discarding the person to whom she had been attached, 
suffered her mind to resume its fondness for that per¬ 
nicious engagement, and became violently enraged 
against me for having broken it off. Although I had 
freely been at some expense to procure her freedom 
from it, still she went to the Bishop of Grenoble, to 
tell him that I had counselled her to do an act of 
injustice. She then went from confessor to confessor > 
repeating the same story, to animate them against me. 
As they were too susceptible of the prejudices infused, 
the fire was soon kindled in all quarters. There were 
none but those who knew me, and who loved God, that 
took my part. They became more closely united to 
me in sympathy through my persecution. It would 
have been very easy for me to destroy the calumny, as 
well with the Bishop of Grenoble as in town. I needed 
only to tell who the person was, and show the fruits of 
her disorder; but as I could not declare the guilty per¬ 
son, without making known at the same time the other 
who had been her accomplice, who now, being touched 
of God, was very penitent, I thought it best for me to 
suffer and be silent. There was a very pious man who 
knew all her history, from the beginning to the end of 
it, who wrote to her, that if she did not retract her lies, 
he would publish the account of her wicked life, to 
make known both her gross iniquity and my innocence. 
She continued some time in her malice, writing that I 
was a sorceress, with many other falsehoods. Never¬ 
theless, some time after she had such a cruel remorse 
of conscience on this account, that she wrote both to 
the bishop and others to retract what she had said. 
She induced one to write to me, to inform me that she 


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was in despair for what she had done; that God had 
punished her in such a manner, that she had never felt 
anything like it. After these recantations the outcry 
abated, the bishop was disabused, and since that time 
he has testified a great regal’d for me. This creature 
had, among other things, said that I caused myself to 
be worshipped; and other unparalleled follies. As she 
had formerly been insane, I think in what she did to 
me there was more of weakness than of malice. 

From Marseilles I knew not how or whither I should 
turn next I saw no likelihood either of staying or of 
returning to Grenoble, where I had left my daughter 
in a convent. On the other side, Father La Combe had 
written to me that he did not think I ought to go to 
Paris. I even felt a strong repugnance to the idea of 
going thither, which made me think it was not yet the 
time for it One morning I felt myself inwardly pressed 
to go somewhere. I took a fitter to go to see the Mar¬ 
chioness of Prunai, which was, I thought, the most 
honorable refuge for me in my present condition. I 
thought I might pass through Nice on my way to her 
habitation, as some had assured me I might. But 
when I arrived at Nice, I was greatly surprised to learn 
that the fitter could not pass the mountain to go 
thither. I knew not what to do, nor which way to 
turn, being here alone, forsaken of everybody, and not 
knowing what God required of me. My confusion and 
crosses seemed daily to increase. I saw myself, without 
refuge or retreat, wandering as a vagabond. All the 
tradesmen, whom I saw in their shops, appeared to me 
happy, in having a dwelling-place of their own to retire 
to. Nothing in the world seemed harder than this 
wandering fife to me, who naturally loved propriety 


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303 


and decorum. As I was in this uncertainty, not know¬ 
ing what course to take, one came to tell me that next 
day a sloop would set off, which used to go in one day 
to Genoa; and that if I chose it, they would land me 
at Savona, from whence I might get myself carried to 
the Marchioness of Prunai’s house. To that I con¬ 
sented, as I could not be supplied with any other way 
of getting thither. 

I had some joy at embarking on the sea. I said in 
myself, “ If I am the dregs of the earth, the scorn and 
offscouring of nature, I am now going to embark on the 
element which above all others is the most treacherous; 
if it be the Lord’s pleasure to plunge me in the waves, 
it shall be mine to perish in them.” There came a 
tempest in a place pretty dangerous for a small boat; 
and the mariners were some of the wickedest. The 
irritation of the waves gave a satisfaction to my mind. 
I pleased myself in thinking that those mutinous bil¬ 
lows might probably supply me with a grave. Perhaps 
I carried the point too far in the pleasure I took, at 
seeing myself beaten and bandied by the swelling 
waters. Those who were with me, took notice of my 
intrepidity, but knew not the cause of it. I asked of 
thee, my Love, some little hole of a rock to be placed 
in, there to live separate from all creatures. I figured 
to myself, that some uninhabited island would have 
terminated all my disgraces, and put me in a condition 
of infallibly doing thy will. But, O my divine Love, 
thou designedst me a prison far different from that of 
the rock, and quite another banishment than that of 
the uninhabited island. Thou reserves! me to be bat¬ 
tered by billows, more irritated than those of the sea. 
Calumnies proved to be the unrelenting waves, to 



304 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUTON. 


which I was to be exposed, in order to be lashed and 
tossed by them without mercy. By the tempest swell¬ 
ing against us we were kept back, and instead of a 
short day’s passage to Genoa, we were eleven days in 
making it How peaceable was my heart in so violent 
an agitation! The swelling of the sea, and the fury of 
its waves were as I thought, only a figure of that swell¬ 
ing fury which all the creatures had against me. I 
said to thee, O my Love, “Arm them all to avenge thy¬ 
self on me for my infidelities, and for those of all the 
creatures.” I saw thy right hand armed against me; 
and I loved more than my life the strokes it gave me. 
We could not land at Savona. We were obliged to go 
on to Genoa. We arrived there in the beginning of 
the week before Easter. 

While I was there I was obliged to bear the insults 
of the inhabitants, caused by the resentment they had 
against the French, for the havoc of a late bombard¬ 
ment. The Doge was newly gone out of the city, and 
had earned off with him all the litters. Wherefore I 
could not get one, and was obliged to stay several days 
at excessive expenses; for the people there demanded 
of us exorbitant sums, and as much for every single 
person as they would have asked for a company at the 
best eating-house in Paris. I had little money left, but 
my store in Providence could not be exhausted. I 
begged with the greatest earnestness for a litter at any 
price, to pass the feast of Easter at the Marchioness of 
Prunai’s house. It was then within three days of 
Easter; and I could scarce any way get myself to be 
understood. By the force of entreaty, they brought 
me at length a sorry litter with lame mules, and told 
me that they would take me readily to Verceil, w r hich 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


305 


was only two days journey, but demanded an enormous 
sum for it; they would not engage to take me to the 
Marchioness of Prunai’s house, as they knew not where 
her estate lay. This was to me a strong mortification; 
for I was very unwilling to go to Verceil; nevertheless 
the proximity of Easter; and want of money, in a coun¬ 
try where they used every kind of extortion and 
tyranny, left me no choice, I was under an absolute 
necessity of submitting to be thus conveyed to Ver- 
ceih 

Thus Providence led me whither I would not Our 
muleteer was one of the most brutal men to be met 
with; and for an increase of my affliction, I had sent 
away to Verceil the ecclesiastic who accompanied us, 
to prevent their surprise at seeing me there, after I had 
protested against going thither. That ecclesiastic was 
very coarsely treated on the road, through the hatred 
they bore to the French; and they made him go part 
of the way on foot, so that, though he set off the day 
before me, he arrived there only a few hours sooner 
than I did. And as for the fellow who conducted us, 
seeing he had only women under his care, he used us 
in the most insolent and boorish manner. 

We passed through a wood infested with robbers. 
The muleteer was afraid, and told us, that, if we met 
any of them on the road, we should be murdered; 
for they spsired nobody. Scarcely had he uttered these 
words, when there appeared four men well armed. 
They immediately stopped the litter. The man was 
exceedingly frightened. I made a light bow of my head, 
with a smile, for I had no fear, and was so entirely 
resigned to Providenc3, that it was all one to die this 
way or any other; in the sea, or by the hands of rob- 


306 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


bers. But, O my God, bow wonderful at this, as at 
many other times, was thy protection over me! How 
many perils have I passed through upon mountains, 
and on the very edges of tremendous steep rocks! 
How often hast thou checked the foot of the mule 
already slipping over the precipice! How often have I 
been like to be thrown headlong from those frightful 
heights, into hideous torrents which, though rolling in 
chasms far below our shrinking sight, forced us to hear 
them by their horrible noise. When the dangers were 
most manifest, then was my faith the strongest, as well 
as my intrepidity, being unable to wish for anything 
else than what should fall out, whether to be dashed 
against the rocks, drowned, or lolled in any other way; 
everything in the will of God being equal to me. The 
people who used to convey or attend me said, “ they 
had never seen a courage like mine;” for the most 
alarming dangers, and the time when death appeared 
the most certain, were those which seemed to please 
me the most. Was it not thy pleasure, O my God, 
which guarded me in every imminent danger, and held 
me back from rolling down the precipice, on the instant 
of sliding over its dizzy brow ? The more easy I was 
about life, which I bore only because thou wast pleased 
to bear it, the more care thou tookest to preserve it. 
There seemed a mutual emulation between us, on my 
part to resign it, and on thine to maintain it. The rob¬ 
bers then advanced to the litteV; but I had no sooner 
saluted them, than God made them change their design. 
Having pushed off one another, as it were, to hinder 
each of them from doing any harm; they respectfully 
saluted me, and, with an air of compassion, unusual to 
such sorts of persons, retired. I was immediately 


THE LIFE OP MADAME GUYON. 


307 


struck to the heart, O my Love, with a full and clear 
conviction that it was a stroke of thy right hand, who 
had other designs over me than to suffer me to die by 
the hand of robbers. It is thy sovereign power which 
takes away their all from thy devoted lovers; and 
destroys their lives with all that is of self without pity 
or sparing anything. 

The muleteer, seeing me attended only with two 
young women, thought he might treat me as he would, 
perhaps expecting to draw money from me. Instead 
of taking me to the inn, he brought me to a mill, in 
which there was not one woman. There was but one 
single chamber with several beds in it, in which the 
millers and muleteers lay together. In that chamber 
they forced me to stay. I told the muleteer I was not 
a person to he in such a place as he had brought me 
to; and wanted to oblige him to take me to the inn; 
but nothing of it would he do. I was constrained to 
go out on foot, at ten o’clock at night, carrying a part 
of my clothes, and to go a good way more than a quar¬ 
ter of a league in the dark, in a strange place, not 
knowing the way, crossing one end of the wood infested 
with robbers, to endeavor to get to the inn. That fel¬ 
low, seeing us go off from the place where he had 
wanted to make me lodge, with a bad design hooted 
after us in a very abusive manner. I bore my humilia¬ 
tion cheerfully, but not without feeling it. But the 
will of God and my resignation to it rendered every¬ 
thing easy to me. We were well received at the inn; 
and the good people there did the best in their power 
for our recovery from the fatigue we had undergone. 
They assured us the place we had left was very dan¬ 
gerous. Next morning we were obliged to return on 


308 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


foot to the litter, for that man would not bring it to us. 
On the contrary, he fell on us with a shower of fresh 
insults. And to consummate his base behavior, he 
sold me to the post, whereby I was forced to go the 
rest of the way in a post-chaise instead of a litter. 

In this equipage I arrived at Alexandria, a frontier 
town, subject to Spain, on the side of the Milanese. 
Our driver took us, according to their custom, to the 
post-house. I was exceedingly astonished when I saw 
the landlady coming out not to receive him, but to 
oppose his entrance. She had heard there were 
women in the chaise, and taking us for a different sort 
of women from what we were, she protested against 
our coming in. On the other hand, the driver was 
determined to force his entrance in spite of her. Their 
dispute rose to such a height, that a great number of 
the officers of the garrison, with a vast mob, gathered 
at the noise, who were surprised at the odd humor of 
the woman in refusing to lodge us. With earnestness 
I entreated the post to take us to some other house, 
but he would not; so obstinately was he bent on carry¬ 
ing his point. He assured the landlady we were per¬ 
sons of honor and piety too; the marks whereof he had 
seen. At last, by force of pressing entreaties, he obliged 
her to come to see us. As soon as she had looked at 
us, she acted as the robbers had done; she relented at 
once and admitted us. 

No sooner had I alighted from the chaise, than she 
said to us, “ Go shut yourselves up in that chamber 
hnrd by, and do not stir, that my son may not know 
ymi are here; for as soon as he knows it he will kill 
you.” She said it with so much force, as did also the 
servant maid, that, if death had not so many charms 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GTTYON. 


309 


for me, I should have been ready to die with fear. 
The two poor girls with me were under frightful appre¬ 
hensions. When any stirred, or came to open the door, 
they thought they were coming to kill them. In short 
they continued in a dreadful suspense, between life 
and death, till next day, when we learned that the 
young man had sworn to kill any woman who lodged 
at the house; because a few days before, an event had 
fallen out, which had like to have ruined him; a woman 
of a bad life having there privately murdered a man in 
some esteem, that had cost the house a heavy fine; and 
he was afraid of any more such persons coming, and 
not without reason. 


310 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUT ON. 


CHAPTER XVHL 

Alter such adventures, and others which it would be 
tedious to recite, I arrived at Verceil. I went to the 
inn, where I was very badly received. I sent for 
Father La Combe, who I thought had been already 
apprised of my coming thither, by the ecclesiastic 
whom I had sent before, and who would be of so much 
service to me. This ecclesiastic was only a little while 
arrived. How much better on the road should I have 
fared, if I had had him with me! For in that country 
they look upon ladies, accompanied with ecclesiastics, 
with veneration, as persons of honor and piety. Father 
La Combe came in a strange fret at my arrival, God so 
permitting it. He could not hide it from me. Ho 
said that every one would think I was come after him, 
and that would injure his reputation, which I found in 
that country was very high. I had had no less pain to 
go thither. It was necessity only which had obliged 
me to submit to such a disagreeable task. The father 
received me with coolness, and in such a manner as let 
me sufficiently see his sentiments, and indeed redoubled 
my pain. I asked him if he required me to return, 
adding, “that, if he did, I would go off that moment, 
however oppressed and spent, both with fatigues and 
fastings.’' He replied, “he did not know how the 
Bishop of Verceil would take my arrival, after he had 
given over all his expectations of it, and after I had so 
long, and so obstinately, refused the obliging offers he 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


311 


had made me; since which he no longer expressed any 
desire to see me.” 

It seemed to me then as if I were rejected from the 
face of the earth, without being able to find any refuge 
in it, and as if all creatures were combined to crush 
me. I passed that night without sleep, not knowing 
what course I should be obliged to take, being perse¬ 
cuted by my enemies, and a subject of disgrace to my 
friends. 

When it was known at the inn, that I was one of 
Father La Combe’s acquaintance, they treated me with 
the greatest respect and kindness; for they esteemed 
him as a saint. The father knew not how to tell the 
bishop of my arrival, and I felt his pain more than my 
own. As soon as that Prelate knew that I was arrived, 
he sent his niece, who took me in her coach, and carried 
me to her house; but these things were only done out 
of ceremony; and the bishop, not having seen me yet, 
knew not what to think of a journey so very unex¬ 
pected, after I had thrice refused, though he sent 
expresses on purpose to bring me to him. He was out 
of humor with me. Nevertheless, as he was informed 
that my design was not to stay at Verceil, but to go to 
the Marchioness of Prunai’s house, he gave orders for 
me to be well treated. He could not see me till Easter 
Sunday was over, for he officiated all the eve and all 
that day. After it was all over, he came in a chaise to 
his niece’s house to see me; and though he understood 
French hardly any better than I did Italian, he was 
very well satisfied with the conversation he had with 
me. He appeared to have as much favor for me as he 
had of indifference before. The second visit gained 
him entirely. 


312 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


He conceived as strong a friendship for me as if I 
had been his sister; and his only pleasure, amidst his 
continual occupations, was to come and pass half an 
hour with me in speaking of God. He wrote to the 
Bishop of Marseilles to thank him for having protected 
me in the persecutions there. He wrote to the Bishop 
of Grenoble; and he omitted nothing to manifest his 
affectionate regard for me. He now seemed to think 
alone of finding out means to detain me in his diocese. 
He would not hear of my going to see the Marchioness 
of Prunai. On the contrary, he wrote to her to come 
and settle with me in his diocese. He sent Father La 
Combe to her, on purpose to exhort her to come; 
assuring her that he would unite us all to make a con¬ 
gregation. The Marchioness entered into it readily, 
and so did her daughter. They would have come 
with Father La Combe, but that the Marchioness was 
sick. The bishop was active and earnest in collecting 
and establishing a society of us, and found several 
pious persons and some very devout young ladies, who 
were all ready to come to join us. But it was not the 
will of God to fix me thus, but to crucify me yet 
more. 

The fatigue of travelling made me fall sick. The 
girl also whom I brought from Grenoble fell sick. Her 
relations, who were a covetous set of people, took it in 
their heads that, if she should die in my service, I 
would get her to make a will in my favor. They were 
much mistaken; for, far from desiring the property of 
others, I had given up my own. Her brother, full of 
this apprehension, came with all speed; and the first 
thing he spoke to her about, although he found her 
recovered, was to make a will. That made a great 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


313 


noise in Verceil; for lie wanted her to return with him, 
but she refused. I advised her to do what her brother 
desired her. He contracted a friendship with some of 
the officers of the garrison, to whom he told ridiculous 
stories, as that I wanted to use his sister badly. He 
pretended she was a person of quality, while she was 
only of a low birth. They gave out what I was still 
afraid of, viz., that I was come after Father La 
Combe. They even persecuted him on my account. 
The bishop was much troubled at it, but could not 
remedy it. The friendship he had for me increased 
every day; because, as he loved God, so he did all those 
whom he thought desired to love him. As he saw me 
so much indisposed, he came to see me with assiduity 
and charity, when at leisure from his occupations. He 
made me little presents of fruits and other things of 
that nature. His relations were jealous of it, saying, 
“I was come to ruin him, and to carry off his money 
into France,” which was a thing the farthest from my 
thoughts. The bishop patiently bore these affronts, 
hoping still to keep me in his diocese, when I should 
be recovered. 

Father La Combe was his prebend and his con¬ 
fessor. He esteemed him highly. God made use of 
him to convert several of the officers and soldiers, who, 
from being men of scandalous lives, became patterns of 
piety. In that place everything was mixed with crosses, 
but souls were gained to God. There were some of 
his friars, who, after his example, were advancing 
toward perfection. Though I neither understood their 
language nor they mine, the Lord made us understand 
each other in what concerned his service. The Rector 
of the Jesuits took his time, when Father La Combe 


314 


THE LIP* OP MADAME GUYON. 


was gone out of town, to prove me, as lie said He 
had studied theological matters, which I did not under¬ 
stand He propounded to me several questions. The 
Lord inspired me to answer him in such a manner, that 
he went away both surprised and satisfied He could 
not forbear speaking of it. 

The Bamabites of Paris, or rather Father de la 
Mothe took it in head to try to draw Father La Combe 
from thence to go and preach at Paris. He wrote to 
the Father-general about it, saying, “ They had no one 
at Paris to support their house, that their Church was 
deserted; that it was a pity to leave such a man as 
Father La Combe in a place were he only corrupted 
his language; that it was necessary to make his fine 
talents appear at Paris, where he himself could not 
bear the burden of the house, if they did not give him 
an assistant of such qualifications and experience.” 
Who would not have thought all this to be sincere ? 
The Bishop of Verceil, who was very much a friend to 
the Father-general, having advice thereof, opposed it, 
and answered him, “ that it would be doing him the 
greatest injury to take from him a man who was so 
exceedingly useful to him, and at a time when he had 
the greatest need of him.” 

The Father-general of the Bamabites would not 
agree to the request of Father de la Mothe, for fear of 
offending the Bishop of Yerceil. As to me, my indis¬ 
position increased. The air, which is there extremely 
bad, caused me a continual cough, with frequent re¬ 
turns of fever. I grew so much worse that it was 
thought I could not get over it. The Bishop was much 
afflicted to see it, but, having consulted the physicians, 
they assured him that the air of the place was mortal 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GTTYON. 


315 


to me, whereupon he said to me with many tears, “ I 
had rather have you live, though distant from me, than 
see you die here.” He gave up his design of establish¬ 
ing his congregation, for my friend would not settle 
there without me; and the Genoese lady could not 
easily leave her own city, where she was respected. 
The Genoese besought her to set up there what the 
Bishop of Verceil had wanted her to set up near him. 
It was a congregation almost like that of Madame de 
Miramion. When the Bishop had first proposed this 
affair, however agreeable it appeared, I had a present¬ 
iment that it would not succeed, and that it was not 
what our Lord required of me, though I submissively 
yielded to the good proposal, were it only to acknowl¬ 
edge the many special favors of this prelate, being 
assured that the Lord would know well how to prevent 
what he should now require of me. As this good pre¬ 
late saw he must resign himself to let me go, he said 
to me, “You were willing to be in the diocese of Gen¬ 
eva, and there they persecuted and rejected you; and 
I, who would gladly have you, cannot keep you.” He 
wrote to Father La Mothe that I should go in the 
Spring, as soon as the weather would permit; that he 
was exceedingly sorry to be obliged to let me go; that 
he had looked upon me as an angel in his diocese;” and 
other things, enough to have thrown me into confusion, 
if I could have attributed anything to myself. Yet he 
still hoped to have kept Father La Combe, which prob¬ 
ably might have been, had not the death of the Father- 
general given it another turn, as I shall relate. 

Here it was that I wrote upon the Apocalypse, and 
that there was given me a greater certainty of all the 
persecutions of the most faithful servants of God, ac- 
10 


316 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYOST. 


cording to what I wrote thereof, in respect to future 
times. Here also I was strongly moved to write to 

Madame De Ch-. I did it with great simplicity; 

and what I wrote was like the first foundation of what 
the Lord required of her, having been pleased to make 
use of me to help to bring her into his ways, being one 
to whom I am much united, and by her to others. 

The Bishop of Yerceil’s friend, the Father-general 
of the Bamabites, departed this life. As soon as h« 
was dead, Father La Mothe wrote to the Vicar-general 
who now held his place till another should be elected 
renewing his request to have Father La Combe as ai. 
assistant. The father, hearing that I was obliged on 
account of my indisposition to return into France, sent 
an order to Father La Combe to return to Paris, and 
to accompany in me my journey thither, as his doing 
that would exempt their house at Paris, already poor, 
from the expenses of so long a journey. On the 
receipt hereof, Father La Combe, who did not pene¬ 
trate the poison under this fair outside, consented 
thereto; knowing it was my custom to have some eccle¬ 
siastic with me in travelling. Father La Combe went 
off twelve days before me, in order to transact some 
business, and to wait for me at the passage over the 
mountains, as the place where I had most need of an 
escort. I set off in Lent, the weather then being 
very fine. It was a sorrowful parting to the Bishop. 
I pitied him; he was so much affected at losing both 
Father La Combe and me. He caused me to be attend¬ 
ed, at his own expense, as far as Turin, giving me a 
gentleman and one of his ecclesiastics to accompany 
me. 

As soon as the resolution was taken that Father La 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


317 


Combe should accompany me, Father La Mothe re¬ 
ported everywhere “ that he had been obliged to do it, 
to make him return into France.” He expatiated on 
the attachment I had for Father La Combe, pretending 
to pity me for it. Upon this everyone said, “that I 
ought to put myself under the direction of Father La 
Mothe.” In the meantime he deceitfully palliated the 
malignity of his heart, writing letters full of esteem to 
Father La Combe, and some to me of tenderness, 
“ desiring him to bring his dear sister, and to serve her 
in her infirmities, and in the hardships of so long a 
journey; that he should be sensibly obliged to him for 
his care;” with many other things of the like nature. 

I could not resolve to depart without going to see 
my good friend, the Marchioness of Prunai, notwith¬ 
standing the difficulty of the roads. I caused myself 
to be carried thither, it being scarcely possible to go 
otherwise on account of the mountains. She was ex¬ 
tremely joyful at seeing me arrive. Nothing could be 
more cordial than what passed between us. It was 
then that she acknowledged that all I had told her had 
come to pass; and a good ecclesiastic, who lives with 
her, told me the same. We made ointments and plas¬ 
ters together, and I gave her the secret of my remedies. 
I encouraged her, and so did Father La Combe, to 
establish an hospital in that place; which was done 
while we were there. I contributed my mite to it 
which has ever been blest to all the hospitals, which 
have ever been established in reliance on Providence. 

I believe I had forgotten to tell, that the Lord had 
made use of me to establish one near Grenoble, which 
subsists without any other fund than the supplies of 
Providence. My enemies made use of that afterwards 


318 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


to slander me, saying, “I had wasted my children’s 
substance in establishing hospitals;” though, far from 
spending any of their substance, I had even given them 
my own; and all those hospitals have been established 
only on the fund of divine Providence, which is inex¬ 
haustible. But so it has been ordered for my good, 
that all our Lord has made me do to his glory has ever 
been turned into crosses for me. I have forgotten to 
particularize a great number both of crosses and indis¬ 
positions. They have been so many as to render the 
suppressing of some of them in a manner inevitable. 

As soon as it was determined that I should come 
into France, the Lord made known to me, that it was 
to have greater crosses than I ever yet had. Father 
La Combe had the like sense. He encouraged me to 
resign myself to the divine will, and to become a vic¬ 
tim offered freely to new sacrifices. He also wrote to 
me, “Will it not be a thing very glorious to God, if he 
should make us serve in that great city, for a spectacle 
to angels and to men?” I set off then with a spirit of 
sacrifice, to offer myself up to new kinds of punish¬ 
ments, if pleasing to my dear Lord. All along the 
road something within me repeated the very words of 
St. Paul, “I go bound in the Spirit unto Jerusalem, 
not knowing the things which should befall me there, 
save that the Holy Ghost witnesseth, saying, that bonds 
and afflictions abide me. But none of these things 
move me; neither count I my life dear unto myself, so 
that I might finish my course with joy.” (Acts xx. 22, 
23, 24.) I could not forbear to testify it to my 
most intimate friends, who tried hard to prevail on me 
to stop, and not to proceed any further. They were 
all willing to contribute a share of what they had, for 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


319 


my settlement there, and to prevent my coining to 
Paris. But I found it my duty to hold on my way, 
and to sacrifice myself for him who first sacrificed him¬ 
self for me. 

At Chamberry we saw Father La Mothe, who was 
going to the election of a Father-general. Though he 
affected an appearance of friendship, it was not diffi¬ 
cult to discover that his thoughts were different from 
his words, and that he had conceived dark designs 
against us. I speak not of his intentions, but to obey 
the command given me to omit nothing. I shall neces¬ 
sarily be obliged often to speak of him. I could wish 
with all my heart it were in my power to suppress what 
I have to say of him. If what he has done respected 
only myself, I would willingly bury all; but I think I 
owe it to truth, and to the innocence of Father La 
Combe, so cruelly oppressed, and grievously crushed 
so long, by wicked calumnies, by an imprisonment of 
several years, which in all probability will last as long 
as life. Though Father La Mothe may appear heavily 
charged in what I say of him, I protest solemnly, and 
in the presence of God, that I pass over in silence many 
of his bad actions. 


m 


the LIFE OF madams guyon. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Scarcely had I arrived at Paris, when I readily dis¬ 
covered the black designs entertained against both 
Father La Combe and me. Father La Mothe who 
conducted the whole tragedy, artfully dissembled, 
according to his custom; flattering me to my face, 
while he was aiming the keenest wounds behind my 
back. He and his confederates wanted, for their own 
interest, to persuade me to go to Montargis (my native 
place), hoping, thereby, to get the guardianship of my 
children, and to dispose of both my person and effects. 
All the persecutions from Father La Mothe and my 
family have been attended on their part with views of 
interest; and those against Father La Combe have 
sprung from rage and revenge, because he, as my 
director, did not oblige me to do what they wanted; 
as well as out of jealousy. I might enter into a long 
detail on this head, sufficient to convince all the world 
hereof; but I suppress, to avoid prolixity. I shall only 
say, that they threatened to deprive me of what little I 
had reserved to myself. To this I only replied “ That 
I would not go to law, that if they were resolved to 
take from me the little I had left (little indeed in com¬ 
parison of what I had given up) I would surrender it 
entirely to them;” being quite free and willing not 
only to be poor, but to be even in the very extremity 
of want in imitation of our Lord Jesus Christ. 

I arrived at Paris on Magdalene’s eve, 1686, exactly 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUTG*L 


321 


five years after my departure from that city. After 
Father La Combe arrived, he was soon followed and 
much applauded. I perceived some jealousy in Father 
La Mothe hereupon, but did not think that matters 
would be carried so far as they have been. The greater 
part of the Bamabites of Paris, and its neighborhood, 
joined against Father La Combe, induced thereto from 
several causes that particularly related to their order. 
But all their calumnies and evil attempts were over¬ 
thrown by the unaffected piety he manifested, and the 
good which multitudes reaped from his labors. 

I had deposited a little sum of money in his hands 
(with the consent of his superior) to serve for the 
entrance of a nun. I thought myself obliged in conr 
science to do it; for she had, through my means, quitted 
the New Catholics. It was that young woman whom 
I mentioned before, whom the priest of Gex wanted to 
win over. As she is beautiful, though very prudent, 
there always continues a cause for fear, when such an 
one is exposed in the world. La Mothe wanted to 
have that money, and signified to La Combe “ that, if 
he did not make me give it to him for a wall, which he 
had to rebuild in his convent, he would make him suf¬ 
fer for it.” But the latter, who is always upright, 
answered, “that he could not in conscience advise me 
to do anything else, but what I had already resolved, 
in favor of that young woman.” Hence he and the 
provincial ardently longed to satisfy their desire of 
revenge. They employed all their thoughts on the 
means of effecting it 

A very wicked man who was employed for that pur¬ 
pose, wrote defamatory libels, declaring that the pro¬ 
positions of Molinos, which had been current for two 


322 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


years past in France, were the sentiments of Father La 
Combe. These libels were spread about in the com¬ 
munity. Father La Mothe and the provincial, acting 
as persons well affected to the Church, carried them to 
the official, or judge of the ecclesiastical Court, who 
joined in the dark design. They showed them to the 
Archbishop, saying, “It was out of their zeal, and that 
they were exceedingly sorry that one of their fraternity 
was an heretic, and as such execrable.” They also 
brought me in, but more moderately, saying, “ Father 
La Combe was almost always at my house,” which was 
veiy false; for I could scarcely see him at all except at 
the confessional, and then for a very short time. Sev¬ 
eral other things equally false they liberally gave out 
concerning both of us. 

They bethought themselves of one thing further 
likely to favor their scheme. They knew I had been 
at Marseilles, and thought they had a good foundation 
for a fresh calumny. They counterfeited a letter from 
a person at Marseilles (I heard it was from the Bishop) 
addressed to the Archbishop of Paris, or to his official, 
in which they wrote the most abominable scandal. 
Father La Mothe came to try to draw me into his 
snare, and to make me say, in the presence of the peo¬ 
ple whom he had brought, that I had been at Marseilles 
with Father La Combe. “ There are,” said he, “ shock¬ 
ing accounts against you, sent by the Bishop of Mar¬ 
seilles. You have there fallen into great scandal with 
Father La Combe. There are good witnesses of it.” 
I replied with a smile, “The calumny is well devised; 
but it would have been proper to know first whether 
Father La Combe had been at Marseilles, for I do not 
believe he was ever there in his life. While I was 


THE LIFE OF MADAME 5TJYON. 


323 


there, Father La Combe was laboring at Verceil.” He 
was confounded and went off, saying, “ There are wit¬ 
nesses of its being true.” He went immediately to ask 
Father La Combe if he had not been at Marseilles. He 
assured him he never had been there. They were 
struck with disappointment. They then gave out that 
it was not Marseilles but Seisel. Now this Seisel is a 
place I have never been at, and there is no bishop 
there. 

Every imaginable device was used to terrify rae by 
threats, forged letters, and by memorials drawn up 
against me, accusing me of teaching erroneous doc¬ 
trines, and of living a bad life and urging me to flee 
the country to escape the consequences of exposure; 
but failing in all these, at length La Mothe took off the 
mask, and said to me in the Church, before La Combe, 
“It is now, my sister, that you must think of fleeing, 
you are charged with crimes of a deep dye.” I was 
not moved in the least, but replied with my usual tran¬ 
quillity, “If I am guilty of such crimes I cannot be too 
severely punished; wherefore I will not flee or go out 
of the way. I have made an open profession of dedi¬ 
cating myself to God entirely; and if I have done 
things offensive to him, whom I would wish both to 
love, and to cause to be loved by the whole world, 
even at the expense of my life, I ought by my punish¬ 
ment to be made an example to the world; but if I 
am innocent, for me to flee is not the way for my inno¬ 
cence to be believed.” 

Similar attempts were made to ruin Father La 
Combe. He was grossly misrepresented to the king, 
and an order procured for his arrest and imprisonment 
in the Bastile. 


324 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


Although on his trial he appeared quite innocent, 
and they could not find anything whereupon to ground 
a condemnation, yet they made the king believe he was 
a dangerous man in the article of religion. He was 
then shut up in a certain fortress of the Bastile for life; 
but as his enemies heard that the captain in that for- 
trees esteemed him, and treated him kindly, they had 
him removed into a much worse place. God, who 
beholds everything, will reward every man according 
to his works. I know by an interior communication 
that he is very well content, and fully resigned to God. 

La Mothe now endeavored more than ever to induce 
me to flee, assuring me that, if I went to Montargis, I 
should be out of all trouble; but that if I did not, I 
should pay for it. He insisted on my taking himself 
for my director, which I could not agree to. He decried 
me wherever he went, and wrote to his brethren to do 
the same. They sent me very abusive letters, assuring 
me that, if I did not put myself under his direction, I 
was undone. I have the letters by me stilL One 
father desired me in this case to make a virtue of 
necessity. Nay, some advised me to pretend to put 
myself under his direction, and to deceive him; where¬ 
as I abhorred the thought of deceit. I bore everything 
with the greatest tranquillity, without taking any care 
to justify or defend myself, leaving it entirely to God 
to order as he should please about me. Herein he was 
graciously pleased to increase the peace of my soul, 
while every one seemed to cry against me, and to look 
on me as an infamous creature, except those few who 
knew me well by a near union of spirit. At Church I 
heard people behind me exclaim against me, and even 
some priests say, “ It was necessary to cast me out of 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


325 


the Church.” I left myself to God without reserve, 
being quite ready to endure the most rigorous pains 
and tortures, if such were his will. 

I never made any solicitation either for Father La 
Combe or myself, though charged with that among 
other things. Willing to owe everything to God, I 
have no dependence on any creature. I would not 
have it said that any but God had made Abraham rich. 
Gen. xiv. 23. To lose all for him is my best gain; and 
to gain all without him would be my worst loss. 
Although at this time so general an outcry was raised 
against me, God did not fail to make use of me to gain 
many souls to himself. The more persecution raged 
against me the more children were given me, on whom 
the Lord conferred great favors through his hand-maid. 

One must not judge of the servants of God by what 
their enemies say of them, nor by their being oppressed 
under calumnies without any resource. Jesus Christ 
expired under pangs. God uses the like conduct 
towards his dearest servants, to render them conform¬ 
able to his Son, in whom he is always well pleased. 
But few place that conformity where it ought to be. 
It is not in voluntary pains or austerities, but in those 
which are suffered in a submission ever equal to the 
will of God, in a renunciation of our whole selves, to 
the end that God may be our all in all, conducting us 
according to his views, and not our own, which are 
generally opposite to his. In fine, all perfection con¬ 
sists in this entire conformity with Jesus Christ, not in 
Binning things which men esteem. It will only be seen 
in eternity who are the true friends of God. Nothing 
pleases him but Jesus Christ, and that which bears his 
mark or character. 


326 


THE 1IFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


They were continually pressing me to flee, though 
the Archbishop had spoken to myself, and bidden me 
not to leave Paris. But they wanted to give the 
appearance of criminality both to me and to Father La 
Combe by my flight. They knew not how to make me 
fall into the hands of the official. If they accused me 
of crimes, it must be before other judges; and any 
other judge would have seen my innocence; and the 
false witnesses would have run the risk of suffering for 
it. They continually spread stories of horrible crimes; 
but the official assured me that he had heard no men¬ 
tion of any; for he was afraid lest I should retire out 
of his jurisdiction. They then made the king believe 
“that I was an heretic; vhat I carried on a literary cor¬ 
respondence with Molinos (I, who never knew there 
was a Molinos in the world, till the Gazette had told me 
of it) that I had written a dangerous book; and that 
on those accounts it would be necessary to issue an 
order to put me in a convent, that they might examine 
me; that, as I was a dangerous person, it would be 
proper for me to be locked up, to be allowed no com¬ 
merce with any one; since I continually held assem¬ 
blies,” which was very false. To support this calumny 
my hand-writing was counterfeited, and a letter was 
forged as from me, importing, that I had “great 
designs, but feared that they would prove abortive, 
through the imprisonment of Father La Combe, for 
which reason I had left off holding assemblies at my 
house, being too closely watched; but that I would 
hold them at the houses of other persons. This forged 
letter they showed the king, and upon it an order was 
given for my imprisonment. 

This order would have been putin execution Iwo 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GIJYON. 


327 


months sooner than it was, had I not fallen very sick. 
I had inconceivable pains and a fever. Some thought 
that I had a gathering in my head. The pain I suf¬ 
fered for five weeks made me delirious. I had also a 
pain in my breast and a violent cough. Twice I 
received the holy sacrament, as I was thought to be 
expiring. One of my friends had acquainted Father 
La Mothe, (not knowing him to have had any hand in 
F. La Combe’s imprisonment) that she had sent me a 
certificate from the inquisition in Father La Combe’s 
favor, having heard that his own was lost. This 
answered a very good purpose; for they had made 
the king believe that he had run away from the inquisi¬ 
tion; but this showed the contrary. 

Father La Mothe then came to me, when I was in 
excessive pain, counterfeiting all the affection and ten¬ 
derness in his power, and telling me “that the affair of 
Father La Combe was going on very well, that he was 
just ready to come out of prison with honor, that he 
was very glad of it; that if he had only this certificate, 
he would soon be delivered. Give me it then,” said he, 
“and he will be immediately released.” At first I made 
a difficulty of doing it. “ What! said he, will you be 
the cause of ruining poor Father La Combe, having it 
in your power to save him, and cause us that affliction, 
for want of what you have in your hands.” I yielded, 
ordering it to be brought and given him. But he sup¬ 
pressed it, and gave out that it was lost. It never 
could be got from him again. The Ambassador from 
the Court of Turin sent a messenger to me for this cer¬ 
tificate, designing the proper use of it to serve Father 
La Combe. I referred him to Father La Mothe. The 
messenger went to him and asked him for it. He 


328 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


denied I had given it to him, saying, “Her brain is 
disordered which makes her imagine it.” The man 
came back to me and told me his answer. The per¬ 
sons in my chamber bore witness that I had given it to 
him. Yet all signified nothing; it could not be got out 
of his hands; but on the contrary, he insulted me, and 
caused others also to do it, though I was so weak that 
I seemed to be at the very gates of death. 

They told me they only waited for my recovery to 
cast me into prison. He made his brethren believe 
that I had treated him ill. They wrote to me; “that 
it was for my crimes that I suffered; and that I should 
put myself under the conduct of Father La Mothe, 
otherwise I should repent it; that I was mad and ought 
to be bound; and was a monster of pride, since I would 
not suffer myself to be conducted by Father La Mothe.” 
Such was my daily feast in the extremity of my pain; 
deserted of my friends, and oppressed by my enemies; 
the former being ashamed of me, through the calum¬ 
nies which were forged and industriously spread; the 
latter let loose to persecute me; under all which I kept 
silence, leaving myself to the Lord. 

There was not any kind of infamy, error, sorcery, or 
sacrilege, of which they did not accuse me. As soon 
as I was able to be carried to the Church in a chair, I 
was told I must speak to the prebend. (It was a snare 
concerted between Father La Mothe and the Canon at 
whose house I lodged). I spoke to him with much 
simplicity, and he approved of what I said. Yet, two 
days after they gave out that I had uttered many 
things, and accused many persons; and from hence 
they procured the banishment of sundry persons with 
whom they were displeased, persons whom I had never 


THE LITE OF MADAME GUYON. 


329 


seen or heard of. They were men of honor. One of 
them was banished, because he said, “ my little book is 
a good one.” It is remarkable that they say nothing 
to those who prefixed their approbations, and that, far 
from condemning the book, it has been reprinted since 
I have been in prison, and advertisements of it have 
been posted up at the Archbishop’s palace, and all over 
Paris. In regard to others, when they find faults in 
their books, they condemn the books and leave the 
person at liberty; but as for me, my book is approved, 
sold and spread, while I am kept a prisoner for it. 

The same day that those gentlemen were banished, 
I received a lettre de cachet, or sealed order to repair 
to the Convent of the Visitation of St Mary’s, in a 
suburb of St. Antoine. I received it with a tranquillity 
which surprised the bearer exceedingly. He could not 
forbear expressing it, having seen the extreme sorrow 
of those who were only banished. He was so touched 
with it as to shed tears. And although his order was 
to carry me off directly, he was not afraid to trust me, 
but left me all the day, desiring me to repair to St. 
Mary’s in the evening. On that day many of my 
friends came to see me, and found me very cheerful, 
which surprised such of them as knew my case. I 
could not stand, I was so weak, having the fever every 
night, it being only a fortnight since I was thought to 
be expiring. I imagined they would leave me my 
daughter and maid to serve me. My daughter was 
most at my heart, having cost me much care in her 
education. I had endeavored, with divine assistance, 
to root out her faults, and to dispose her to have no 
will of her own; which is the best disposition for a 
child. She was not yet twelve years of age. 


330 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


CHAPTER XX 

On the twenty-ninth of January, 1688, I went to 
St. Mary’s. There they let me know I must neither 
have my daughter nor a maid to serve irv, but must be 
locked up alone in a chamber. Indeed it touched me 
to my heart when my daughter was taken from me. 
They would neither allow her to be in that house, nor 
anybody to bring me any news of her. I was then 
obliged to sacrifice my daughter, as if she were mine 
no longer. The people of the house were prepossessed 
with so frightful an account of me, that they looked at 
me with horror. For my jailor they singled out a nun, 
who, they thought, would treat me with the greatest 
rigor, and they were not mistaken therein. 

They asked me who was now my confessor. I 
named him; but he was seized with such a fright that 
he denied it; though I could have produced many per - 
sons who had seen me at his confessional. So then 
they said they had caught me in a lie; and I was not 
to be trusted. My acquaintance then said they knew 
me not, and others were at liberty to invent stories, 
and say all manner of evil of me. The woman, 
appointed for my keeper, was gained over by my ene¬ 
mies, to torment me as an heretic, an enthusiast, one 
crackbrained and an hypocrite. God alone knows 
what she made me suffer. As she sought to surprise 
me in my words, I watched them, to be more exact in 
them; but I fared the worse for it. I made more slips 


THE LIFE OF MADAAfR GUYON. 


331 


and gave her more advantages over me thereby, beside 
the trouble in my own mind for it. I then left myself 
as I was, and resolved, though this woman would 
bring me to the scaffold, by the false reports she was 
continually carrying to the prioress, that I would simply 
resign myself to my lot; so I re-entered into my former 
condition. 

Monsieur Charon the Official, and a Doctor of Sor- 
bonne, came four times to examine me. Our Lord did 
me the favor which he promised to his apostles, viz., to 
make me answer much better than if I had studied. 
Luke xxi. 14, 15. They said to me, “ If I had explained 
myself, as I now did, in the book entitled, ‘ Short and 
Easy Method of Prayer/ I would not now have been 
here.” My last examination was about a counterfeit 
letter, which they read and let me see. I told them 
the hand was no way like mine. They said, “it was 
only a copy; they had the original at home.” I desired 
a sight of it, but could not obtain it I told them I 
never wrote it, nor did I know the person to whom it 
was addressed; but they took scarcely any notice of 
what I said. 

After this letter was read, the official turned to me 
and said, “You see, madam, that after such a letter 
there was foundation enough for imprisoning you.” 
“ Yes, sir,” said I, “if I had written it.” I showed them 
its falsehoods and inconsistencies, but all in vain. I 
was left two months, and treated worse and worse, 
before either of them came again to see me. Till then 
I had always some hope that, seeing my innocence, 
they would do me justice; but now I saw that they did 
not want to find me innocent, but to make me appear 
guilty. 


332 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


The official alone came the next time, and told me, 
“I must speak no more of the false letter; that it was 
nothing.” “ How nothing,” said I, “ to counterfeit a per¬ 
son’s writing, and to make one appear an enemy to the 
State! ” He replied, “ We will seek out the author of 
it” “ The author,” said I, “ is no other than the Scriv¬ 
ener Gautier.” He then demanded where the papers 
were which I wrote on the Scriptures. I told him, “ I 
would give them up when I should be out of prison; 
but was not willing to tell with whom I had lodged 
them.” 

About three or four days before Easter he came 
again, with the doctor, and a verbal process was drawn 
up against me for rebelling, in not giving up my papers 
Copies of my writings were then put into their hands; 
for I had not the originals. I know not where those 
who got them from me have put them; but I am firm 
in the faith that they will all be preserved, in spite of 
the storm. The prioress asked the official how my 
affair went. He said, very well, and that I should soon 
be discharged; and this became the common talk; but 
I had a presentiment of the contrary. 

I had an inexpressible satisfaction and joy in suffer¬ 
ing, and being a prisoner. The confinement of my 
body made me better relish the freedom of my mind. 
St. Joseph’s day was to me a memorable day; for 
then my state had more of heaven than of earth beyond 
what any expression can reach. This was followed, as 
it were, with a suspension of every favor then enjoyed, 
a dispensation of new sufferings. I was obliged to 
sacrifice myself anew, and to drink the very dregs of 
the bitter draught. 

I never had any resentment against my persecutors, 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


333 


though I well knew them, their spirit and their actions. 
Jesus Christ and the saints saw their persecutors, and 
at the same time saw that they could have no power 
except it were given them from above. John xix. 11. 

Loving the strokes which God gives, one cannot 
hate the hand which he makes use of to strike with. 

A few days after, the official came, and told me he 
gave me the liberty of the cloister, that is, to go and 
come in the house. They were now very industrious 
in urging my daughter to consent to a marriage, which, 
had it taken place, would have been her ruin. To suc¬ 
ceed herein, they had placed her with a relation of the 
gentleman whom they wanted her to marry. All my 
confidence was in God, that he would not permit it to 
be accomplished, as the man had no tincture of Chris¬ 
tianity, being abandoned both in his principles and 
morals. 

To induce me to give up my daughter they prom¬ 
ised me an immediate release from prison and from 
every charge under which I labored. But if I refused, 
they threatened me with imprisonment for life and 
with death on the scaffold. In spite of all their prom¬ 
ises and threatenings, I persistently refused. 

Soon after, the official and doctor came to tell the 
prioress I must be closely locked up. She represented 
to them that the chamber I was in, was small, having 
an opening to the light or air, only on one side, through 
which the sun shone all the day long, and being the 
month of July, it must soon cause my death. They 
paid no regard thereto. She asked why I must be 
thus closely locked up. They said, “ I had committed 
horrible things in her house, even within the last 
month, and had scandalized the nuns.” She protested 


334 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GTTYON. 


the contrary, and assured them the whole community 
had received great edification from me, and could not 
but admire my patience and moderation. But it was 
nil in vain. The poor woman could not refrain from 
tears, at a statement so remote from the truth. 

They then sent for me, and told me, “ I had done 
base things in the last month.” I asked what, things? 
They would not tell me. I said then, “ that I would 
suffer as long and as much as it should please God; 
that this affair was begun on forgeries against me, and 
so continued. That God was witness of everything.” 
The doctor told me, that to take God for a witness in 
such a thing was a crime. I replied, “Nothing in the 
world could hinder me from having recourse to God.” 
I was then shut up more closely than at first, until I 
was absolutely at the point of death, being thrown into 
a violent fever, and almost stifled with the closeness of 
the place, and was not permitted to have any assist¬ 
ance. 

In the time of the ancient law, there were several of 
the Lord’s martyrs who suffered for asserting and 
trusting in the one true God. In the primitive Church 
of Christ the martyrs shed their blood, for maintaining 
the truth of Jesus Christ crucified. Now there are 
martyrs of the Holy Ghost, who suffer for their depend¬ 
ence on it, for maintaining its reign in souls, and for 
being victims of the Divine will. 

It is this Spirit which is to be poured out on all 
flesh, as saith the Prophet JoeL The martyrs of Jesus 
Christ have been glorious martyrs, he having drank up 
the confusion of that martyrdom; but the martyrs of 
the Holy Spirit are martyrs of reproach and ignominy. 
The devil no more exercises his power against their 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUT ON. 


335 


faith or belief, but directly attacks the dominion of the 
Holy Spirit, opposing its celestial motion in souls, and 
discharging his hatred on the bodies of those whose 
minds he cannot hurt. Oh, Holy Spirit, a Spirit of 
love, let me ever be subjected to thy will, and, as a leaf 
is moved before the wind, so let me be moved by thy 
Divine breath. As the impetuous wind breaks all that 
resists it, so break thou all that opposes thy empire* 

Although I have been obliged to describe the pro¬ 
cedure of those who persecute me, I have not done it 
out of resentment, since I love them at my heart, and 
pray for them, leaving to God the care of defending 
me, and delivering me out of their hands, without 
making any movement of my own for it. I have 
apprehended and believed that God would have me 
write everything sincerely, that his name may be glori¬ 
fied; that the things done in secret against his servants 
should one day be published on the house-tops; for 
the more they strive to conceal them from the eyes ol 
men, the more will God in his own time make them all 
manifest. 

August 22d, 1688, it was thought I was about com¬ 
ing out of prison, and everything seemed to tend 
toward it. But the Lord gave me a sense that, far 
from being willing to deliver me, they were only laying 
new snares to ruin me more effectually, and to make 
Father La Mothe known to the king, and esteemed by 
him. On the day mentioned, which was my birthday, 
being forty years of age, I awaked under an impression 
of Jesus Christ in an agony, seeing the counsel of the 
Jews against him. I knew that none but God could 
deliver me out of prison, and I was satisfied that he 
would do it one day by his own right hand, though 


336 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


ignorant of the manner, and leaving it wholly to him¬ 
self. 

In the order of Divine Providence my case was 
laid before Madame de Maintenon, who became deeply 
interested in the account given her of my sufferings, 
and at length procured my release, and a few days 
afterward I had my first interview with the Abbe Fene- 
lon. 

Coming out of St. Mary’s I retired into the com¬ 
munity of Mad. Miramion, where I kept my bed of a 
fever three months, and had an imposthume in my 
eye. Yet at this time I was accused of going continu¬ 
ally out, holding suspected assemblies, together with 
other groundless falsehoods. In this house my daugh¬ 
ter was married to Mons. L. Nicholas Fouquet, Count 
de Vaux. I removed to my daughter’s house, and on 
account of her extreme youth, lived with her two years 
and an half, but even there my enemies were ever 
forging one thing after another against me. I then 
wanted to retire quite secretly, to the house of the 
Benedictines at Montargis, (my native place) but it 
was discovered, and both friends and enemies jointly 
prevented it. 

The family in which my daughter was married being 
of the number of Abbe Fenelon’s friends, I had the 
opportunity of often seeing him at our house. We had 
some conversations on the subject of a spiritual life, in 
which he made several objections to my experiences 
therein. I answered them with my usual simplicity^ 
which, as I found, gained upon him. As the affair of 
Molinos at that time made a great noise, the plainest 
things were distrusted, and the terms used by mystic 
writers exploded. But I so clearly expounded every- 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


337 


thing to him, and so fully solved all his objections, that 
no one more fully inbibed my sentiments than he; 
which has since laid the foundation of that persecution 
he has suffered. His answers to the Bishop of Meaux 
evidently show this to all who have read them. 

I now took a little private house, to follow the incli¬ 
nation I had for retirement; where I sometimes had 
the pleasure of seeing my family and a few particular 
friends. Certain young ladies of St. Cyr. having 
informed Mad. Maintenon, that they found in my con¬ 
versation something which attracted them to God, she 
encouraged me to continue my instructions to them; 
and by the fine change in some of them with whom 
before she had not been well pleased, she found she 
had no reason to repent of it. She then treated me 
with much respect; and for three years after, while 
this lasted, I received from her every mark of esteem 
and confidence. But that very thing afterward drew 
on me the most severe persecution. The free entrance 
I had into the house, and the confidence which some 
young ladies of the Court, distinguished for their rank 
and piety, placed in me, gave no small uneasiness to 
the people who had persecuted me. The directors 
took umbrage at it, and under pretext of the troubles 
I had had some years before, they engaged the Bishop 
of Chartres, Superior of St. Cyr, to present to Mad. 
Maintenon that, by my particular conduct, I troubled 
the order of the house; and that the young women in 
it were so attached to me, and to what I said to them, 
that they no longer hearkened to their superiors. I 
then went no more to St. Cyr. I answered the young 
ladies who wrote to me, only by letters unsealed, which 
passed through the hands of Mad. Maintenon. 


338 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


Soon after I fell sick. The physicians, after trying 
in vain the usual method of cure, ordered me to repair 
to the waters of Bourbon. My servant had been 
induced to give me some poison. After taking it, I 
suffered such exquisite pains that, without speedy suc¬ 
cor, I should have died in a few hours. The man 
immediately ran away, and I have never seen him 
since. When I was at Bourbon, the waters which I 
threw up burned like spirits of wine. I had no thought 
of being poisoned, till the physicians of Bourbon 
assured me of it. The waters had but little effect. I 
suffered from it for above seven years. 

God kept me in such a disposition of sacrifice, that 
I was quite resigned to suffer everything, and to receive 
from his hand all that might befall me, since for me to 
offer in any way to vindicate myself, would be only 
beating the air. When the Lord is willing to make 
any one suffer, he permits even the most virtuous peo¬ 
ple to be readily blinded toward them; and I may con¬ 
fess that the persecution of the wicked is but little, 
when compared with that of the servants of the Church, 
deceived and animated with a zeal which they think 
right. Many of these were now, by the artifices made 
use of, greatly imposed on in regard to me. I was 
represented to them in an odious light, as a strange 
creature. Since, therefore, I must, O my Lord, be 
conformable to thee, to please thee; I set more value 
on my hu m il i ation, and on seeing myself condemned of 
everybody, than if I saw myself on the summit of 
honor in the world. How often have I said, even in 
the bitterness of my heart, that I should be more afraid 
of one reproach of my conscience, than of the outciy 
and condemnation of all men! 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


339 


CHAPTER XXT- 

At this time I had my first acquaintance with the 
Bishop of Meaux, to whom I was introduced by an 
intimate friend, the Duke of Chevreuse. I gave liim 
the foregoing history of my life, and he confessed, 
“ that he had found therein such an unction as he had 
rarely done in other books, and that he had spent three 
days in reading it, with an impression of the presence 
of God on his mind all that time.” 

I proposed to the bishop to examine all my writ¬ 
ings, which he took four or five months to do, and then 
advanced all his objections; to which I gave answers, 
but from his unacquaintance with the interior paths, I 
could not clear up all the difficulties which he found in 
them. 

He admitted that looking into the ecclesiastical his¬ 
tories for ages past, we may see that God has some¬ 
times made use of laymen, and of women to instruct, 
edify, and help souls in their progress to perfection; 
and I think one of the reasons of God’s acting thus, is 
that glory may not be ascribed to any, but to himself 
alone. For this purpose, he has chosen the weak 
things of this world, to confound such as are mighty. 
1 Cor. i. 27. 

Jealous of the attributes which men pay to other 
men, which are due only to himself, he has made a 
paradox of such persons, that he alone may have the 
glory of his own works. I pray God with my whole 


S40 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYOH. 


heart sooner to crush me utterly, with the most dread¬ 
ful destruction, than to suffer me to take the least 
honor to myself, of anything which he has been pleased 
to do by me for the good of others. I am only a poor 
nothing. God is all-powerful. He delights to operate, 
and exercise his power by mere nothings. 

The first time that I wrote a history of myself, it 
was very short. In it I had particularized my faults 
and sins, and said little of the favors of God. I was 
ordered to burn it, to write another, and in it to omit 
nothing anyway remarkable that had befallen me. I 
did it. It is a crime to publish the secrets of the king; 
but it is a good thing to declare the favors of the Lord 
our God, and to magnify his mercies. 

As the outcry against me became more violent, and 
Madame Maintenon was moved to declare against me, 
I sent to her through the Duke of Beauvilliers, request¬ 
ing the appointment of proper persons to examine my 
life and doctrines, offering to retire into any prison 
until fully exculpated. But my proposal was rejected. 
In the meantime, one of my most intimate friends and 
supporters, Mons. Fouquet, was called away by death. 
I felt his loss very deeply, but rejoiced in his felicity. 
He was a true servant of God. 

Being now determined to retire out of the way of 
giving offense to any, I wrote to some of my friends, 
and bade them a last farewell; not knowing whether I 
were to be carried off by the indisposition which I then 
labored under, which had been a constant fever for 
forty days past, or to recover from it. 

Referring to the Countess of G. and the Duchess of 
M., I wrote, “ When these ladies and others were in 
the vanities of the world, when they patched and 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


341 


painted, and some of them were in the way to min 
their families by gaming and profusion of expense in 
dress, nobody arose to say anything against it; they 
were quietly suffered to do it. But when they have 
broken off from all this, then they cry out against me, 
as if I had ruined them. Had I drawn them from 
piety into luxury, they would not make such an out¬ 
cry. The Duchess of M. at her giving herself up to 
God, thought herself obliged to quit the Court, which 
was to her like a dangerous rock, in order to bestow 
her time on the education of her children and the care 
of her family, which, till then, she had neglected. I 
beseech you, therefore, to gather all the memorials you 
can against me; and if I am found guilty of the things 
they accuse me of, I ought to be punished more than 
any other, since God has brought me to know him and 
love him, and I am well assured that there is no com¬ 
munion between Christ and Belial.” 

I sent them at the same time my two little printed 
books, with my commentaries on the Holy Scriptures. 
I also, by their order, wrote a work to facilitate their 
examination, and to spare them as much time and 
trouble as I could, which was to collect a great number 
of passages out of approved writers, which showed the 
conformity of my writings with those used by the holy 
penmen. I caused them to be transcribed by the 
quire, as I had written them, in order to send them to 
the three commissioners. I also, as occasion presented, 
cleared up the dubious and obscure places; for, as I 
had written them at a time when the affairs of Molinos 
had not broken out, I used the less precaution in 
expressing my thoughts, not imagining that they would 
ever be turned into an evil sense. This work waJ 


342 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


entitled, “ The Justifications.” It was composed in fifty 
days, and appeared to be very sufficient to clear up the 
matter. But the Bishop of Meaux would never suffer 
it to be read. 

After all the examinations, and making nothing out 
against me, who would not have thought but they 
would have left me to rest in peace ? But quite other¬ 
wise, the more my innocence appeared, the more did 
they, who had undertaken to render me criminal, put 
every spring in motion to effect it. I offered the Bish¬ 
op of Meaux o go to spend some time in any com¬ 
munity within his diocese, that he might be better 
acquainted with me. He proposed to me that of St 
Mary de Meaux, which I accepted; but in going thithei 
in the depth of winter I had like to have perished in 
the snow, being stopped four hours, the coach having 
entered into it, and being almost buried in it, in a deep 
hollow. I was drawn out at the coach-door with one 
maid. We sat upon the snow, resigned to the mercy 
of God, and expected nothing but death. I never had 
more tranquillity of mind, though chilled and soaked 
with the snow, which melted on us. Occasions like 
these are such as show whether we are perfectly 
resigned to God or not. This poor girl and I were 
easy in our mmds, in a state of entire resignation, 
though sure of dying if we passed the night there, and 
seeing no likelihood of anyone coming to our succor. 
At length some waggoners came up, who with difficulty 
drew us tlirough the snow. 

The bishop, when he heard of it, was astonished, 
and had no little self-complacency to think that I had 
thus risked my life to obey him so punctually; and yet 
afterwards he denounced it as artifice and hypocrisy. 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


343 


There were times indeed when I found nature over¬ 
charged; but the love of God and his grace rendered 
sweet to me the very worst of bitters. His invisible 
hand supported me; else I had sunk under so many 
probations. Sometimes I said to myself, “All thy 
waves and thy billows are gone over me.” Psal. vlii. 
7. “ Thou hast bent thy bow and set me as a mark for 

the arrow; thou hast caused all the arrows of thy 
quiver to enter into my reins.” Lam. iii. 12. 13. It 
seemed to me as if everyone thought he was in the 
right to treat me ill, and rendered service to God in 
doing it. I then comprehend that it was the very man¬ 
ner in which Jesus Christ suffered. He was numbered 
with the transgressors. Mark xv. 28. He was con¬ 
demned by the sovereign pontiff, chief priests, doctors 
of the law, and judges deputed by the Eomans, who 
valued themselves on doing justice. Happy they who 
by suffering for the will of God under all the like cir¬ 
cumstances, have so near a relation to the sufferings of 
Jesus Christ! 

For six weeks after my arrival at Meaux, I was in a 
continual fever, nor had I recovered from my indispo¬ 
sition, when I was waited on by the bishop, who would 
fain have compelled me to give it under my hand, that 
I did not believe the Word incarnate, (or Christ mani¬ 
fest in the flesh). I answered him, “that through the 
grace of God, I knew how to suffer, even to death, but 
not how to sign such a falsehood.” Several of the 
nuns who overheard this conversation, and perceiving 
the sentiments of the bishop, they joined with the 
Prioress, in giving a testimonial, not only of my good 
conduct, but of their belief in the soundness of my 
faith. 


344 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GTTY0N. 


The bishop some days after, brought me a confess¬ 
ion of faith, and a request to submit my books to the 
Church, that I may sign it, promising to give me a cer¬ 
tificate, which he had prepared; but on my delivering 
him my submission signed, he, notwithstanding his 
promise, refused to give the certificate. Some time 
after, he endeavored to make me sign his pastoral let¬ 
ter, and acknowledge that I had fallen into those errors, 
which he there lays to my charge, and made many 
demands of me of the like absurd and unreasonable 
nature, threatening me with those persecutions I after¬ 
wards endured, in case of non-compliance. However, I 
continued resolute in refusing to put my name to 
falsehoods. At length, after I had remained about six 
months at Meaux, he gave me the certificate; but find¬ 
ing Mad. Maintenon disapproved of the certificate he 
had granted, he wanted to give me another in place of 
it. My refusal to deliver up the first certificate enraged 
him, and as I understood they intended to push mat¬ 
ters with the utmost violence, “ I thought that although 
I were resigned to whatever might fall out, yet I ought 
to take prudent measures to avoid the threatening 
storm.” Many places of retreat were offered me; but 
I was not free in my mind to accept of any, nor to 
embarrass anybody, nor involve in trouble my friends 
and my family, to whom they might attribute my 
escape. I took the resolution of continuing in Paris, of 
living there in some private place with my maids, who 
were trusty and sure, and to hide myself from the view 
of the world. I continued thus for five or six months. 
I passed the day all alone in reading, in praying tc 
God, and in working. But the 27th of December, 1695, 
I was arrested, though exceedingly indisposed at that 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUYON. 


345 


time, and conducted to Vincennes. I was three days 
in the custody of Mons. des Grez, who had arrested 
me; because the king would not consent to my being 
put into prison; saying several times over, that a con¬ 
vent was sufficient. They deceived him by still stronger 
calumnies. They painted me in his eyes, in colors so 
black, that they made him scruple his goodness and 
equity. He then consented to my being taken to Vin¬ 
cennes. 

I shall not speak of that long persecution, which 
has made so much noise, for a series of ten years 
imprisonments, in all sorts of prisons, and of a banish¬ 
ment almost as long, and not yet ended, through 
crosses, calumnies, and all imaginable sorts of suffer¬ 
ings. There are facts too odious on the part of divers 
persons, which charity induces me to cover. 

I have borne long and sore languishings, and 
oppressive and painful maladies without relief. I have 
been also inwardly under great desolations for several 
months, in such sort that I could only say these words, 
“ My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me!” All 
creatures seemed to be against me. I then put myself 
on the side of God, against myself. 

Perhaps some will be surprised at my refusing to 
give the details of the greatest and strongest crosses of 
my life, after I have related those which were less. I 
thought it proper to tell something of the crosses of my 
youth, to show the crucifying conduct which God held 
over me. I thought myself also obliged to relate cer¬ 
tain facts, to manifest their falsehood, the conduct of 
those by whom they had passed, and the authors of 
those persecutions of which I have been only the acci¬ 
dental object, as I was only persecuted, in order to 


446 


THE LIFE OF MADAME GUY ON. 


involve therein persons of great merit; whom, being 
out of their reach by themselves, they, therefore, could 
not personally attack, but by confounding their affairs 
with mine. I thought I owed this to religion, piety, 
my friends, my family, and myself. 

While I was prisoner at Vincennes, and Monsieur 
De La Reine examined me, I passed my time in great 
peace, content to pass the rest of my life there, if such 
were the will of God. I sang songs of joy, which the 
maid who served me learned by heart, as fast as I made 
them; and we together sang thy praises, O, my God! 
The stones of my prison looked in my eyes like rubies; 
I esteemed them more than all the gaudy brilliancies 
of a vain world. My heart was full of that joy which 
thou givest to them who love thee, in the midst of their 
greatest crosses. 

When things were carried to the greatest extremi¬ 
ties, being then in the Bastile, I said to thee, “ O, my 
God, if thou art pleased to render me a new spectacle 
to men and angels, thy holy will be done! 

December, 1709. 

[Here she left off her narrative, though she 
lived a retired life above seven years after this date* 
What she had written being only done in obedience to 
the commands of her director. She died the 9th of 
June, 1717, at Blois, in the seventieth year of her age] 


the end. 



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